Archive of Our Own

Flame is warm.

The soft glow of a nearby campfire hits his dark skin while he slowly eats a piece of steak that they had just cooked. Some people find the smell of smoke completely irritating—they way it climbs up their throat making them cough. Flame finds that he doesn't really mind. Actually, it has the opposite effect on Flame's brain, soothing him into a strange state of peace that he doesn't find often. A faint static-ky hum that slowly envelops his brain in a comforting lull that leaves him feeling calm.

Sounds of conversation can be heard from around the campsite, loud laughter accompanied by a familiar teasing. They are too comfortable for being wanted fugitives. Most of them aren't even really friends. At least, Flame is not stupid enough to engage in whatever conversation they are having. While pretending to play around during the day is fun, the night always leaves him slightly more paranoid.

The only one he trusts enough to sleep by his side is his rival… which Flame thinks is enough of a summary of just how unsafe he feels here. Wemmbu may be a cheating idiot with a total disregard of the rules but Flame knows his rival wouldn't stop low enough to stab him in his sleep. Parrot is probably also safe enough to be around, the man has too much of a hero complex to do something like that—even if he hates Flame.

Spoke… Spoke probably wouldn't kill Flame.

No one is going to kill him out here. It would be stupid of them to try and sacrifice the war unit in the middle of a full blown war. It was obvious yet it did nothing to motivate Flame into participating in whatever conversation was happening around him.

If a certain creaking was here, he would be teasing Flame for his low social battery.

A huff of smoke fell from his open lips at the thought before he slowly turned to continue eating with a quiet huff. They were a couple of thousands blocks away from district 13 which meant that they had a somewhat long journey to travel in the morning.

"STUPID HOUNDS AND-" It's just a small part of the conversation really, one that should be almost completely irrelevant. Really, Wemmbu complaining about having to deal with hunting dogs was a pretty common especially considering Flame has full dog armies that he uses constantly against the man.

It shouldn't be a big deal.

Yet the moment the word hound falls from the purple man's lips Flame feels something strange brewing inside of his body. The soft tiger ears that lay on his dreadlocks perk up suddenly before twitching in the direction of the sound, his tail lowers slightly to the ground, and more importantly… Flame actually turns around to look at the man. Responding to hound as if it was just another name.

Flame doesn't seem realize this.

It doesn't strike him as odd his sudden attention on a conversation he wanted nothing to do about a couple moments earlier. His sudden fixation on the conversation doesn't go unnoticed by the parrot hybrid sitting in front of him. Parrot purses his lips looking deep in thought while Flame continues staring back and forth between Spoke and Wemmbu. It was almost like the tiger was expecting something to happen. From the corner of Flame's eye, he watches as Parrot walks behind the chests with a thoughtful expression on his face.

What could Parrot be possibly searching for this late?

Flame shrugs at the reaction before going back to eating the piece of steak without a care in the world. The sound of Spoke's and Wemmbu's arguing becomes soft background noise as his exhausted body just focuses on eating. Being on the run is always taxing on the body, no matter how much experience you have. The conversation was clearly nothing interesting, just Wemmbu complaining about the last fight with puffed cheeks.

His mind can't help but wander towards his best friend during moments like this.

Was Lomedy at least taken care of in that prison?

Flame hopes so.

Wemmbu had described the place as annoying but not really cruel.

"Hound?" Parrot's voice registers on Flame's brain. Making the man's head snap in the direction of the sound, ears twitching while he stares at Parrot with a slight look of confusion on his face. There's something fuzzy on the back of Flame's brain. Something that recoils at the use of that word.

All of the conversation surrounding them seems to stop momentarily. Flame just blinks up at Parrot with a look of complete lost confusion. The man's eyes seem to narrow in something close to recognition. And suddenly, Flame feels too seen. There's two sets of eyes staring at him with similar curiosity and mixed amusement until Flame feels like a circus tiger. It makes Flame's cheeks heat up with mortification while he tries desperately to stop focusing on Parrot. There's a pit of bitter anxiety burning through his brain while he desperately continues eating.

That nickname felt familiar.

Why the fuck had he reacted like that?

"Really, Flame? Hound? That's a weird nickname" Wemmbu is clearly teasing, eyes full of mirth while he stares at Flame with an easy going smile. Flame shouldn't be bothered by Wemmbu's behavior but there's something on the use of the nickname that makes his body freak out. It suffocates Flame. A part of his brain awaiting for an order that never arrives.

It's just one word.

Why is he acting like this?

"Bro, just shut up." Flame snaps before turning his head to look somewhere else feeling completely petrified. The more he tries to find a concrete origin for his reaction, the less he understands.

Every single part linked to that stupid nickname seems to be buried underneath heavy fog. No matter how much he tries, he keeps drawing a blank at it. There's no tragic story, nothing to justify whatever instinctual reaction his body is undergoing for a simple word. His body is constantly on alert every time the word is uttered.

"How did you even get that nickname?" Wemmbu asks once more through bouts of laughter. The magenta eyes of his rival twinkling under the fire making them seem almost cruel.

"No, no, Wemmbu, dude I see it! He acts like one, look! he's even tilting his head to the side." Spoke's lighthearted voice sink like actual poison into the back of Flame's mind. A heavy feeling of being suffocated falling into Flame's lungs like water. "So cute!"

They are just ragebaiting, Flame tries to reason with himself. Trying desperately to actually calm his unsteady hands with a faint hum. It doesn't work. Something weak and stupid is leaving his own body jittery with an acrid taste of actual anxiety on his tongue. The previously safe and cozy campfire felt hot enough to melt his skin off. An itch that slowly buzzed under Flame's skin while the sounds of laughter resonated through the entire place.

It's mocking.

Flame felt like a cornered animal. An ugly thing staring from a dissection table too alive, too aware of the items scattered around it.

"Dalright bro, quit it" Flame did his best to keep his voice as steady as possible. The more time it passes, the more uncomfortable he seems to grow at the stupid nickname. One of his blackened claws comes to scratch softly at the tissue underneath his arms where a single small scar lays bare.

"C'mon bro, it's just a question" Wemmbu hums puzzled by Flame's constant denials to the nickname. The purple demon purses his lips while he stares at Flame with a half relaxed smile.

Of course.

Of course the two noisiest motherfuckers of all unstable smp would be unable to let the conversation die into a pile of ashes.

The worst thing is that Flame can't answer the question. The nether tiger can't articulate just why the nickname even exists. He can't remember who was the first person to call him that—can't explain the suffocating anxiety that rises like a tidal wave each time that word is uttered near him. The sensation burrows under his hot skin, the same way a maggot would on the frail skin of an actual corpse. Under the light of the moonlight, he feels to raw to be seen.

Something rises through his lungs, a familiar spice taste of smoke as it falls from his nose in a clear indication of just how uncomfortable he is. Before Flame can think twice, he's already standing on the wet dirt with an almost calm expression on his face. Parrot looks slightly guilty with each bombarding question that falls from Spoke's and Wemmbu's lips. The avian is sitting there with his wings slightly pressed to his frame.

Flame doesn't understand why the man looks so guilty.

To his knowledge, Parrot only tried to get on his good side because Flame is fighting on the same war. It would be inconvenient if one of your strongest weapons hated your guts for an incident a long time ago. An incident that Flame doesn't even care about, yet Parrot for some reason does. It wasn't the first time someone used Flame for their own gain.

Flame was a weapon.

There's no need to feel guilty for using him like one.

"Shut up bro, oh my god, mind your own business." Flame makes sure to accentuate every single one of the vocals before heading in the direction of the makeshift tents with an almost lazy smile. He ignores whatever whining come from his rival or the soft call falling from Parrot's lips.

Prying open the wool from the nearby tent, Flame lets his smile fall into a grimace.

Replaced by a look of complete utter confusion.

A shaky breath fell from his lips while he slowly settled into the rough dirt with a frown on his face. The sounds of whatever conversation was happening outside passing through the strange numb static now present on Flame's brain while the man focused on keeping his breathing steady. Hound, a word, a way to call the thousands of dogs that Flame used to hunt down his own enemies.

A word that apparently his own traitorous body responded to without a single reason.

Every memory under that word seems to be locked under thick fog. One that lets only a few feelings pass through. Pride seems to be the most common one mixed with shame. The two managing to coexist even if they were radically different in definition. And Flame wondered if smashing the lock on his brain was worth it.

Maybe he should just stop thinking about it.

It's just the lack of sleep.

After all, who loses a handful of random memories without even realizing it?

Yep, Flame is just going to sleep.

—

I.

The grass underneath his feet is slippery, mud splashing against the shimmering purple of his own boots. Thick foliage that threatens to send him sprawling into the dirt. Overgrown roots do nothing to quell the sharp nausea that threatens his body. He won the fight. It's been days since it happened.

The wounds inflicted by his older brother's spear had long faded into faint scabs that would soon disappear into nothing. The empire he had served so dutifully crumbling into dust at the hands of it's enemies, leaving nothing but ashes on it's wake. The person he had bowed to protect, the ruler of the empire, was nowhere to be seen. She had disappeared somewhere in the rubble.

Maybe she fled.

Isn't that what all rulers did when their empires started to crumble under the weight of their decisions?

Flame knows she's not dead. It would have shown in the communicator screen or as a grotesque corpse in the remains of the destroyed buildings. Because Flame had done his rounds even through the TNT falling through the sky, had searched around before deciding it was pointless and booking it out of there with a few burns. Most of the cuts on his dark skin where superficial mixed with a few second degree burns.

Flame's had worse.

In fact, he's used to the constant feeling of a totem popping. Used on the sensation of succumbing to death only to reappear high on adrenaline a few seconds later. It had been part of his training back then as a teen.

So, why is he so disoriented right now?

Flame knew the answer to that question.

He's used to the feeling of getting used and discarded to the side the moment things got difficult. It had been one of the most common fights with his older brother back when they were close. Mane couldn't understand Flame's craving for honor, hierarchy and status. The same way Flame couldn't understand Mane's desire for money. His older brother kept repeating it, reminding him to search value somewhere else that didn't make Flame so dependant on others.

Two sides of the same coin yet always clashing with one another.

Flame's tiger ears twitch suddenly, making him stand straight in the middle of the forest floor.

There's a faint rustling of the leaves nearby, a heavy footstep that radiate confidence right behind his trembling body, a gaze that Flame recognizes almost instinctively— someone with instincts of a predator. Flame's tiger tail puffs up at the sensation, tiger ears twitching slightly, while he turns to look right behind him. It takes him actual effort to suppress the actual growl that was going to slip through his lips.

Everything about this man seemed wrong.

Tan skin littered with flickering purple glitches, pupils just a bit too big to be normal, smile with teeth that were crooked in a strange way. Flame couldn't seem to describe what that man looked like. The best he could say was that he looked as the result of someone who had never seen a human attempting to draw one from description. The body was normal, the limbs were normal save for patches of purple skin, but the face? There was something on it that felt off.

Maybe it was the effect of those glitches or maybe whoever this was decided to play with exploits before arriving here.

A cold shiver began building on the edge of Flame's spine, a sudden scream of his instincts to run off down the hill screaming while he stared at the strange man in front of him. Flame was a mix of a demon and a tiger— his instincts didn't act like that normally.

"I've seen your fighting. Impressive if I say so myself" The newcomer's voice is smooth as it falls through his lips yet genuine. Something in the man's posture relaxes slightly, almost vulnerable in a way that makes Flame relax slightly.

The sharp fear turning into confusion while he stares at the man for a while.

"Well bro, I'm not one of the strongest players for nothing." Flame replies with a hint of pride, something like suspicion still lingering on the back of his mind. "What's it to you?"

"Straight to the point, huh? I can respect that." The newcomer says in a frail imitation of a joking tone. The humorous relaxed way he speaks makes Flame's suspicion disappear little by little. His instincts still slightly antsy. "There's this faction called the Mafia, you've heard of it?"

Flame purses his lips while a hand comes to rest on the handle of his sword before shaking his head. In truth, he was way too busy with his knight duties to actually pay attention to the gossip traveling around the kingdom. The man doesn't seem surprised by the denial. Yet something about this conversation is a bit strange. The newcomer hadn't introduced himself yet.

Maybe it's a quirk.

"Well then, it's a faction that works by ranks. It depends on you to pass through every challenge and get to the top. We are searching for new additions and you seemed like a good candidate." The newcomer—who Flame is just going to call glitch on his head— seemed proud of the organization which was always a good sign. "Unless of course you have other plans?"

The thing is Flame doesn't have other plans.

He has nowhere to go.

He doesn't say that to the man in front of him. Instead letting the silence stretch in a way that makes it seem like Flame is still weighing his options. One of his ears twitches while he stares at the man in front of him. What would this glitch do if it really looks like Flame is considering turning down the offer? How would he react?

"It's your choice of course." The glitch says completely calm, there isn't a hint of desperation nor a faint attempt at persuasion.

Just a small choice completely up to Flame.

"I don't use dishonorable weapons." Flame responds completely serious in a silent challenge. It was clear this man didn't really care about honor that much, especially with the state of the glitches code. His tail swishing in the air while he waits for the response on his unsaid question.

Will you force me to be something I'm not?— Flame thinks.

"That won't be a problem, you aren't required to do so." The glitch hums almost amused before turning around. Almost looking for a second like he's gonna leave and take the opportunity he had handed Flame back with him.

It takes effort to ignore his stupid instincts.

"Fine bro, lead the way." Flame's voice carries through the wind like a blade, making the man stop on his tracks while an actual smile starts growing on the glitches face. A small shudder travels from Flame's spine as he forces himself to stare at the man in front of him even through the blindfold.

"Pleasure having you in the Mafia Flame. I'm Ashswag, the leader." The glitch- no, Ashswag says with an amused smile on his lips while he slowly starts walking in the direction of whatever base the Mafia has.

And Flame follows.

His feet travel through the same slippery mud from before with an almost confident stride. The sound of Ashswag's humming and Flame's blade hitting the side of his armor mix in a strange cacophony. The forest doesn't seem as desolate as before. A silver of hope shining underneath the cloth of his blindfold. After everything that had happened to the Zam empire, it seems like Flame can finally move on to something better.

Maybe things in there won't be so bad.

The tiger hybrid has nothing to lose.

Worst case scenario, he's strong enough to flee.

Yeah, it'd be fine.

II.

Jumping from a completely blank slate to iron is laughingly easy.

Flame spends most of his days under the numbing cold of the invisibility potion, limbs slowly growing numb. The armor is heavy in a way that's almost grounding as he slowly yet steadily starts climbing to the top of the ranks without any problem. There's just something so terribly intoxicating on rising with nothing but your honor and the blood that slowly pools out of his wounds. He thrives under the mafia's command, thrives at the feeling of becoming a useful weapon.

Flame isn't unaware of this fact.

He had always been a weapon, comfortable only on someone else's hands. It had been an ideology of his own creation. It had been his decision. Flame had craved honor since he learned the concept in an street fight, had craved the recognition. Honor ensured you weren't just another statistic buried underneath the ground—it created a legacy and people were less likely to forget that legacy.

Flame hated the idea of his rotting body being forgotten or dismissed as just another soldier, a casualty of the constant war that raged around the place. Once the soft dirt consumed his body in a morbid spectacle, he wanted to just be remembered as something other than a weakened corpse.

His nose twitched as he slowly craved his way into the deep part of the maze that was the server's black market. A filthy place infested by rats that slowly chewed on the soft remains of whatever victim had died in a place like this. It had been his first mission to rise upon the ranks, one that Flame had exceeded at with precision. Crawling around the place to learn an incredibly secret form of communication would have been extremely complicated to anyone else that wasn't Flame.

But he's no stranger to weakness.

He's no stranger of having to drag himself out of whatever hole had opened underneath his unsteady legs and succeeding. The water of the place is completely rotten and filthy with toxics that make his sensible tiger nose twitch. He had traveled similar places back when he was a tiny child still clutching the bandaged hands of his older brother. That's the only reason why he can confidently walk around this place without hurling the contents of his stomach into the debris covered streets.

The memory tasted bitter on the back of his tongue while Flame continued walking out of the filthy streets. Each second he spends on the dark corners of the dark market is like a small memory to his past. Times where his nine year old brother had to bargain for some sketchy medicine because Flame had gotten sick.

Same brother that had literally left him to die a few months ago by the way.

A faaint huff from annoyance falls from his lips while he slowly yet desperately tries to ignore the few childish voices either for sale or working on the shops. It's a shitty reality to live in but Flame isn't about to play the noble hero. He wasn't like Parrot. He wasn't about to take probably the only thing that kept those kids going just because some may consider it morally incorrect.

He isn't that cruel.

Also it would be a gross underestimation for Flame to assume every single child in here is helpless. Survival doesn't make children docile, it makes them feral. Mane became a mercenary back when he was about eight and Flame secured his first kill at five. In fact, children were a bit scarier than actual adults—their brains were hardwired into this small focal instinct. They didn't care of just how much damage they are causing, they just care about staying alive and if that means they have to eat someone else in the process… they would probably do it.

A sharp shudders climbs from his spine at the thought as he slowly starts walking just a bit farther away from the stands.

The immortal demon scared of children? laughable.

Flame didn't care, he had been an anarchy kid, he knew just exactly the shenanigans that Mane had gotten himself into just to keep food on the table. So ignoring the possibly feral menaces that roam the streets is a much more comforting and reasonable course of action.

Either way Flame now needs to start making his way back to the Mafia.

He has found the rumor mill, officially gathered enough information from it, killed a player that wasn't on the Mafia and completed all of the missions he needed to officially climb a rank higher.

It had been a good day, everything considered.

III.

Everyone had a nickname back in the Mafia, some sort of identification that allows Ash to tell them apart under the thick blurry effects of the invisibility. Most people on the mafia lacked one of these nicknames until they started climbing the ranks and becoming more and more popular. Obviously Flame had been recruited by the leader so he had to find a nickname too. Ash obviously had known that Flame was extremely powerful, yet the man didn't offer a higher position because of Flame's status.

He appreciated that.

It wouldn't be honorable if Flame just skipped ranks because of his power.

As a consequence Flame had been asked the same question everyone else had.

What is something that identifies you?

The first thing on Flame's hands at that question is his trusted sword, the blade still covered with a faint stain. The magic of the enchantments hums warmly under his skin while he does that little characteristic twirl. It just made sense. It was the thing Flame used more in his day by day, it was a part of him. Ash didn't seemed that surprised or pleased with that response instead looking at Flame with an amused expression.

"A little basic for someone like you, don't you think?" Ash had said with a small smile settling on the corners of his face. The teasing tone made Flame slightly embarrassed while he scrambled to search for something in his inventory.

Right, of course in a faction full of soldiers there has to be at least another one who had bared the sword as their name. Flame needed a title just his own, how else did he plan on making a name for himself inside of the dark halls? At least Ash was kind enough to let him choose something else as his name.

His blindfolded eyes scanned the different potions before settling on the faint glow of the enchanted fishing rod that let him summon as many hunting dogs as necessary. It's magic is cold against his hands while he slowly turns to show the fishing road with a faint grin on his face. It had been his machine, his strategy— something he hadn't seen anyone else use. Most people created these machines to carry explosives.

Most people considering that the effort of caring and training fighting dogs was just not worth it.

"A fishing rod?" Ash asked clearly puzzled by the seemingly random item. There's something imposing on the posture the man has, something that makes his instincts scream. It makes no literal sense. Most instincts don't make any sense. Flame had learned that lesson very very young.

Ash is a good leader.

Ash allowed Flame and other soldiers to get accommodations due to their illiteracy or lack of education. Most leaders wouldn't be kind enough to agree to that sort of thing. Flame had seen the glances the empress had thrown his way occasionally when she saw Flame struggling with the letters of the signs. A mockingly pitiful look that had made him ashamed of his incompetence.

Ash was kind, and Flame's instincts didn't seem to get the memo.

"A portable dog cannon" Flame corrected softly after a second of the silence stretching just a bit too loud. The last thing he wanted was to gain the nickname of fisherman inside of the halls of this place.

Ash seemed to ponder for a second, eyes tracking Flame's still posture before moving to the faint tilt of Flame's head.

"Hound, yes that name can suit you nicely." Ash had said with something akin to pride before dismissing Flame with the faint motion of a hand. "Finish your missions hound, you know where to find me."

Flame bowed sightly, ignoring the faint ache of his burning wounds while he slowly walked outside.

Hound, it sounded powerful.

Flame liked it.

IV.

There's a risk on raising hunting dogs, kind of a very big one, and that's attachment.

Flame loves each and every single one of his dogs. He loves them in a distant way, just so it's easier to bury those tiny bodies underneath the dirt of his small backyard. Most of them lack a name, instead identified by the small collars that they carry around their necks. Once they finish the training Flame makes sure to slowly put them into the machine carefully, making sure they get enough food and space to run around until they are released into each battle. Occasionally he'll check on them, cuddling or playing while waiting for the next mission with a grin.

It would be a lite to say that Flame didn't care about each death. He had grown used to the fleeting lives each and everyone of his dogs lived. Had spent days and nights making sure they were well taken care of and loved until the day of their demise. Sometimes he would arrive to his house, bloody and beaten, just to head directly to the place where the pups where kept and take care of them through his exhaustion.

Summoning his hunting dogs where the last possible resource Flame used.

Because Flame hated those trusting eyes as the dogs slowly charged into battle behind Flame, unknowing of the fate they where bound to suffer. Hated the way sometimes they would whimper on the floor, too injured to get up until Flame slowly held their bleeding body and gave them the sweet relief of death. They way those beady eyes would remain full of trust even as all of the life slowly bled out of their tiny bodies.

That had stablished the rule of never becoming too attached to any of his dogs.

One that Flame wishes he could say he kept as each litter slowly grew stronger and more menacing by the day.

Sadly, Flame had broken that rule sometime ago.

Had broken that rule when he had rescued a tiny girl from a rose bush and instead of sending her to the machine, he called her Rose. Well, it hadn't been a rule back then, had it? A sweet dog that had stayed with him since before the fall of the Zam empire. Her light auburn fur twinkling on the sunlight as a pair of heterochromatic eyes stared at Flame full of trust. She was the one that greeted Flame's bloody figure each night with the same soft concerned whining and licks.

Flame had gotten attached,

And she was going to pay for that price.

The last mission that he had to complete to rise from Iron to Gold was a cruel one. It arrived in the same format each official letter did. The same yellowed corners with that loopy neat handwriting of his leaders hand. Flame had no problem with any of the other missions until then. It made sense what Ash was asking for him. If the man was asking for it then it had to be for a good reason.

Attachments where weaknesses people needed to get rid off before ascending to gold.

That didn't mean he enjoyed the slow walk to the throne room with the small dog trotting behind him. Flame couldn't afford to not follow the Mafia's directions, not when they could kill him at any moment—not when he had nowhere else to go.

That didn't make leading the small girl to her execution any easier.

Slowly he kneels on the floor, holding the dog close to his chest with a faint hum. She gives a bark, licking at the side of Flame's cheek before settling down once more. It takes him a while to stand up and arrive to the destination. Rose walking next to him in a way that let's Flame feel the soft fur of her torso—something she only did when she sensed he was nervous. God what had he been thinking?

Why would he let himself selfishly love something so pure?

"Who is my sweet girl? you-" His voice actually cracks before he slowly looks into the canine's eyes. His hands slowly grip the handle of the throne room while he whispers one silent sentence into the air. "You are going to take a long nap now, okay?"

Rose gives him an excited yip, somehow hearing Flame's whispered words.

The throne room is dark as Ash stands in the corner of the room with a solemn expression on his face. The glitches cover every single part of the man's eyes as he stares at the dog Flame was bringing with something close to disgust. The expression makes Flame want to curl in shame while he slowly guides the girl into the center of the room.

He knows he shouldn't have gotten attached, okay?

He knows.

"I'm sorry Hound, you understand why you have to do this?" Ash sounds genuinely compassionate towards Flame's situation. The expression on Ash's face is soft almost comforting. The leader looks imposing under the warm lights of the gloomy room.

"Yes, I understand." Flame mutters, eyes watching the patterns of the floor.

The place is cold, so detached to the usual outdoors that Rose loves to play in. Flame can't help but hate the fact that she's going to die inside of this dark halls, without even getting the chance of playing underneath the sun one last time.

"I'm ready when you are." Ash replies patiently

It's so damn easy to take a life.

It takes just a good hit on the neck of the creature to send it sprawling into the ground with a small confused whine. A wound on the right vein that sends blood sprawling out of her body as Flame slowly holds her body with shaky hands. She cries, eyes full of trust and confusion as her body slowly starts growing weaker with each passing breath. Flame holds her, uncaring of the blood and the display of vulnerability.

He whispers sweet words into her ears until her eyes glaze over.

"Try not to get attached again." Ash says slowly helping Flame stand and putting the gold chest plate on Flame's shoulders. It's heavy, it might be the heaviest piece of armor he has ever worn next to blood stained pants.

Flame doesn't cry.

A part of him thinks he should be proud. This was the opportunity he was hoping for, this was what he wanted.

Instead he just feels empty like his heart has been plunged into cold waters.

"I won't make the same mistake twice" Flame hums, voice detached and devoid of any type of emotion. He feels strangely detached of his body—like the events happening around him aren't real.

Ash looks at Flame like he doesn't really believe him.

Flame doesn't remember getting home.

Flame doesn't remember burying the dog next to the others with a few roses on her grave.

Flame doesn't remember crying into the soil.

The only thing he does remember is arriving home, and no one was there to greet him this time. No excited barks or playful yips. Just silence. Rose wasn't there to welcome him home.

And she would never be.

It was all Flame's fault.

V.

Flame doesn't know when it happened.

Lost people will cling into whatever object they can to prove themselves they are alive.

And Flame doesn't know when he started being one of those people.

The hound steadily crept under his skin as some sort of hunger he didn't know he was capable off, started consuming his insides. It's a feral feeling that has his body running on the thrill of the adrenaline as he slowly completes each mission with a bloody smile on his face. Before he knows it, his rank has climbed enough to gain him the diamond chest plate. It was exhilarating.

Being useful is something that Flame was good at.

And before he knows it, the diamond chest plate is his to wear.

The living proof of his identity as a fighter, proof that he could rise upon each rank until finally succeeding at something. It's a visual representation of his combat abilities and something that Flame is so terribly proud of. Flame is nothing without the soft enchantments that glow on his chest plate.

There's pride growing on his chest with each success.

He had stopped caring for anything that didn't have to do with proving that he was worthy of being a diamond player.

If that meant getting a mace just to prove he could.

Flame would do it.

He ignores the part of himself that resents Ash from going back on his promise.

Resents the fact that he has to fight to get a dishonorable weapon he is not eve going to use.

Resents how subtle favoritism has started appearing inside of the Mafia's organization.

But Flame has nothing else. There's nothing else he could do, nothing else he would rather do. He belongs inside of the gloomy halls of the Mafia's HQ

Flame is nothing else than the chest plate hanging around his shoulders.

"Being strong enough to get out of this cage, doesn't make you any less trapped." A golden trims had said while exiting the arena.

Probably out of jealousy, probably to make Flame feel off center.

It had worked.

He hates the fact that those words are stuck inside of his head like some sort of messed up loop.

Flame wasn't trapped.

This is what he wanted.

This is his purpose.

He's happy here.

VI.

There's a pup lying on the middle of the debris.

A little girl with dusty blue hair lays motionless over the poor animal, her pale skin shining under the soft moonlight, while blood gushes out sluggishly from a gross looking gash on the side of her stomach. The small pup is lying on her cold arms, licking desperately at the child fingers—it's fur is covered in soot and blood making it impossible for Flame to decern it's color. It was clear the girl had died from the debris, trying desperately to protect the small puppy from danger.

Flame should leave the girl and her dog alone.

Instead his eyes scan motionlessly the scene, the way blueish blood sinks on soft fur, and more importantly the state of the puppy. It was well taken care of, whining while covered on it's owners black dress. A clear distinction from the soot covered, malnourished body of the child that protected it. She had obviously been a mining working girl who had sacrificed her life in exchange of the puppy's.

Flame should leave.

Mane had always teased him about his soft heart when it came to animals.

With a faint paranoid scan to the place, he kneels in front of the girl with shaky hands. The blood is cold as it soaks against his skin. Flame doesn't feel anything, not sympathy for the broken body of the girl— that's just how things down here worked. If she had been foolish enough to run around with people who held illegal mafia supplies, then that had been her fault—no one else's.

Slowly coaxing the pup from the girl's body, he holds it close to his chest.

The poor thing is covered by a black shawl as it shivers against Flame's body.

Flame really shouldn't keep it.

That would be high risk no reward.

But it looks just so helpless with scratches on it's muzzle. It looks similar to how Rose had looked a long time ago.And besides his better judgment, he finds himself hiding the frail body against the cape of his uniform with his heart beating on his throat.

He needed more dogs for the cannons anyways.

Of course, Flame shouldn't be stupid enough to hide it from Ash— he tries anyways.

It doesn't take him very far.

There's a copper trims sitting next to Ash with a calm smile on their face, one that hangs around Ash far too often next to a gold trim. Flame knows nothing about the copper trims and very little about the gold trims. He knows the man seems almost fond of the gold trims soldier whose nickname is "fish bucket" and while Flame can't understand why the leader would hang around people with ranks so low— he's not stupid enough to question it. Instead he stands there stiffly, with the pup on his arms and a neutral expression on his face.

"I thought you would have learned your lesson by now" Ash's voice is full of judgment as he stares down at Flame's injured form.

"I need more for my cannons" Flame replies trying his best to sound reasonable. There's a sour smell of smoke covering the entire village, one that helps Flame keep his nerves in check. There isn't a hint of desperation on his voice, no nerves.

Flame is a diamond trim.

Flame is hound.

And maybe that's what makes him slightly calmer.

The copper trims hums from next to Ash with a faint smile on their face, elbowing the man with a soft disapproving tone, before turning to look at Flame. They are completely invisible under the thick blurriness of the invisibility potion and somehow they don't seem afraid of challenging the Mafia's leader. It's almost as if the chaos around them is keeping them calm. The copper trims let's out a pleased hum occasionally at the sound of explosives, seemingly enjoying it.

Flame bares himself for Ash to actually kill the soldier for their disregard of Ash's authority.

Instead the man lets out a soft yet fond smile, as he turns to look at the copper trims.

The man looks almost amused at the situation.

"Fine, but keep it out of my sight Flame." The leader finally says, voice stern. His glitches seem to be calmer around the copper trim and Flame just stares for a little bit longer than necessary in disbelief. There's something sickly sweet yet gentle on the man's eyes as he stares at the copper trims.

And Flame does something he has never thought of doing before…

He bows his head in her direction as a soft signal of respect before nodding at Ash. The copper trims blinks at him before letting out a soft surprised laugh. Almost like she didn't quite know what to do with the gesture of respect. Her hands are clumsy as she makes a small shooing motion with her hands—almost like she's mimicking something she has seen before.She sounds kind, even if she's enjoying the destruction around them far too much.

The man seemed surprised at Flame's actions.

Flame starts walking in the direction of his base with a faint confused knot in the middle of his throat. Slightly nervous of how he basically acknowledged a random soldier before his leader. The diamond trim chest plate seems slightly heavier as the small pup snuggles against Flame's side.

A copper trims had saved the puppy's and Flame's life.

Someone with a rank lower than him.

And the Hound doesn't quite know what to do with that information.

VII.

Nothing lasts forever.

The last plan Flame had been able to hear about was a collaboration between Ash and someone who called themselves the director just before the Mafia fell.

After that it had been a blur of battles until everything came crashing down.

The Mafia falls the same way the Zam empire fell a year prior. A mix of the consequences of pride, attachment and an Ego that made it difficult to actually overcome the different players who banded to destroy it. Ash hadn't been destroyed at the notion of his Mafia falling, no, quite the contrary. He had been happy to continue his life with that copper trims at his side, traveling who knows where.

Everyone had a life outside the Mafia, an identity of their own.

Everyone except Flame who had lost his chest plate in a fight not too long ago.

The feeling of losing that chest plate is not one he wants to replay. The feeling of the compass inside Flame's mind shattering and leaving the arrow spinning alone in the middle of the glass shards.

The first weeks were hell and somehow not the worst of this whole journey.

Invisible potion withdrawal that leaves Flame kneeling on the cold bathroom floor with shaky limbs that can barely hold his own weight. The weeks pass through a blur Flame is not even sure he'll get to survive in the first place. Who knows how many days he spends actually sobbing through the derealization that the potion delirium gives him, calling out for Mane like he's a needy little cub. There's a constant numbing of his limbs underneath a mix of ghost sensations, it feels like his mind is fracturing itself under the pressure.

Then it's over.

The potion slowly leaves his whole body intact, no sign of that hellish week beyond the raw burns from his own tears. His mind is clear from the delirium, and he has nothing but his own thoughts as a company. On the lonely stone base that he calls home, Flame lays by the campfire with the soft snout of the dog that he had rescued on his cheek. Embarrassingly, the dog doesn't have a name.

Flame hadn't been able to bring himself to do so in the Mafia.

Ashen, he decides that night, after the gray fur that decorates the dog's back.

And Flame is lost once more.

A weapon without a handler.

A dog without an owner.

 The days pass in an uncomfortable blur through the middle of his eyes as he slowly throws himself into fights. Doing what he does best. He's a weapon fighting for honor, mindless fights, fights that give him an echo of an identity. He's a weapon ashamed of it's lack of adaptability once things crashed down.

It happens slowly since then, as the thrill of a fight takes over Flame's body once more.

A faint blurriness that he can't quite explain.

The more time passes, the more Flame turns back into his system of honor.

That's what leaves him lying on the front porch of a random farmer with a gash on the side of his skin. The wound is ugly, orange blood pouring sluggishly from it. Flame just hums staring at the sun through blindfolded eyes, it filters through a kaleidoscope of colors. The greenery is soft underneath his skin as soft footsteps hurry to Flame's side just in time to catch his collapsing body.

When he wakes up, a small creaking hybrid is smiling up at him.

"Why?" Flame rasps out before taking the glass of water from the hybrid's hands. The unsaid question traveling through the wind as the soft glow of the sun pools through the room. The man doesn't say anything, just wiping his hands in his apron.

He looked familiar.

"Have we met before, bro?" Flame finds himself asking through half lidded eyes, a hand reaching to swipe through his curls.

"Back in the Mafia? yeah bro?" The man answers with a smile before watching Flame's confused expression. Something on Flame's expression makes the man's smile drop slightly as he shook his head. "Don't you remember?"

"No" Flame's answer is far too short, too cutting, too suspicious of the farmer in front of him. The man had clearly not been important if Flame could forget him so easily.

"Okay, I'm Lomedy bro." The man smiles.

And for the first time in a while, Flame feels his mouth twitching into a small smile.

—

Flame's heart is on his throat as the morning comes.

There's a silent scream stuck inside of his throat while he slowly yet surely starts sitting once more. Wemmbu is still sprawled right next to him, so he makes a conscious effort to not wake the annoying man up.

It doesn't take them too long to pack everything up.

Just as he's preparing to leave, he finds Parrot standing right in front of him.

"I'm sorry about yesterday bro. It was clearly a triggering nickname and I- " Parrot starts, fidgeting with the edge of his wing. Flame actually stops at the word trigger as a small absurd smile starts growing on his face.

It wasn't a trigger.

Flame didn't have any of those.

"Dude, it's whatever. I didn't get triggered or whatever" Flame gave a mocking smile, kneeling to grab the enderchest on the ground before turning to look at the bird.

"You sure? You looked-" Parrot starts, fidgeting with the corner of his shawl.

"You called me a dog, bro. Obviously I was gonna get offended." Flame makes sure to put extra emphasis on the word obviously before turning in the direction where his rival was already playing around.

Parrot looks like he wants to say something.

Yet is rudely interrupted by a sharp shout of Flame's name.

"Flame! betcha I can get before you to the base!" Wemmbu calls out before soaring into the skies.

Flame lets out a laugh already preparing to take off after Wemmbu.

There was no way he was letting that random chungie get away with winning a race.

The events of the night lay forgotten as he continues to chase.

They were probably not important.