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“You’ll never be the strongest ever again.”
Wemmbu slumped against a nearby rock and let out a breath. He was exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that made you want to crawl out of your own skin to get away from it. But he couldn’t do that, so leaning against this rock was his next best option.
He didn’t exactly remember how he’d gotten up here in the first place. (If he was being honest, he’d been blanking on his memories for a while now.) He just knew he needed to get somewhere away from everyone else. Somewhere he could sit down and breathe for just a moment. So he ended up on this cliffside. Nobody was here so it worked.
Ever since he’d fought Flame, Wemmbu had been… well he didn’t really know. Once the news had spread, every since person he ran into tried to fight him. They didn’t believe he had been able to beat Flame, so they would try to attack him to see if it was true.
Wemmbu killed all of them.
It wasn’t the worst. It gave him a reason to use his mace which was always fun. But it was mostly a waste. Wemmbu had made a pact in blood with his mace to give himself more power and the only thing he could use it on was to kill randoms who died in one hit. But if he didn’t kill them, they would take it as a win and start claiming that Wemmbu really was weak. That Wemmbu really didn’t beat Flame.
And he couldn’t stand it. He wasn’t weak. Wemmbu was strong now, the strongest on the server. Why didn’t they just believe him? Why didn’t they just leave him alone?
A wave of dizziness suddenly washed over him, and as Wemmbu grabbed onto the rock to keep himself steady he made the delayed realization that it had been a while since he had actually given his mace any blood. He kinda needed to do that didn’t he?
Pulling Gambit out revealed that it was indeed almost out of blood. Which was slightly alarming because if it ran out of blood, Wemmbu was screwed. That was part of the pact. In order to become stronger, he must supply his mace with enough blood to keep it satiated. Failure to do so at any point would result in his death.
It was a pretty bad situation, all things considered. Wemmbu was bound to giving this thing blood for the rest of his life now, but it still felt worth it. He needed to be strong.
Plus, his life wasn’t all that sacred to him anyway.
With a few quick slices from his sword to the palm of his hand until it was sufficiently stained red, he grabbed the handle of his mace and waited for it to absorb. He wouldn’t be able to fill it fully with just his palm — which was a pretty stupid spot to use actually — but it would hold things over until he could…
Wemmbu blinked. He didn’t really know where he was going with that. Until he could what? What was he thinking just now? His tail flicked against the wall and made a noise. It broke his train of thought. Whatever. It probably didn’t matter anyways.
Absent-mindedly, he noticed that he couldn’t really feel the injuries on his hand. He probably should, but maybe it was a good thing. Maybe it would make things easier.
After another minute, Wemmbu pushed off the rock and stood near the edge of the cliff. He wasn’t dizzy anymore which meant he’d been able to tie Gambit over for a little bit. He moved his mace to his other hand. He was still unsteady on his feet though. He’d lost a good bit of blood and was still bleeding. But he could manage. If he really thought about it, he couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t swaying at least a little.
His mind was somewhat blank as he looked over the edge of the cliff. Another wave of exhaustion hit him like a train, and he wondered what would happen if someone pushed him off right now. Would he catch himself? Was it worth it? If he was the strongest player on the server, and he was, he definitely was, then what else did he really have to do anymore?
He wondered if dying was the same as sleeping. Would his exhaustion finally go away?
“Look who it is,” a familiar voice chuckled, breaking him out of his thoughts.
Wemmbu’s body tensed (was it ever really untensed?) as he turned around and came face-to-face with Flamefrags. “What the-?”
“Thought I saw someone up here,” Flame cut him off. “You really think you’re gonna beat me like that and it's over?” He laughed and took a step forward. Wemmbu grabbed his mace with both hands and stepped back. “I want a rematch.”
God, Wemmbu did not want to do this right now. “Well I don’t. Go away,” he replied flatly, trying to sound disinterested.
Flame took another step forward. “Who said you had a choice, bro?” He pulled out his sword.
For some reason, even though he should have been getting his inventory ready or something, Wemmbu’s mind trailed back to what he was thinking a few moments ago. Would dying give him what he wanted?
“You’re not gonna win,” he said suddenly as Flame dropped a strength potion at his feet.
“You’re really that confident now?” Flame took another step forward. They were probably three feet away at this point. “That’s hilarious.”
Wemmbu shook his head. He knew if he fought Flame in the state he was in he would certainly lose. “No, I’m not. But I’m not gonna let you win. If you try to attack me,” he took a step back. His heels were at the edge now, “I’ll just jump off.”
Flame paused. “Huh?” He looked genuinely confused, and if Wemmbu were in any better of a mood he would have laughed at the sight. “You’re just gonna kill yourself to get out of fighting me?” His eyes moved to look over the edge momentarily before something in his expression shifted. “Yeah, like I’m gonna believe that. You’re just gonna elytra away or something, I’m not dumb, bro.” He moved another step forward. “Nice try, though,” he grinned, baring his teeth.
Wemmbu almost rolled his eyes. With a sigh, he grabbed all three of his totems and dropped them off the cliff. Flame paused again, and Wemmbu proceeded to drop his water bucket as well. “I don’t have my elytra on me,” he said tiredly. “I’m being serious.”
“What-” Flame paused for a second, looking him over. “I’m not trying to kill you, bro, I just want my rematch. You don’t need to be doing all that.”
Wemmbu gripped his mace tighter, he still could barely feel the wounds on his hand. Shouldn’t it be hurting more? “I know, but I don’t want to fight you, so if I just die before you can land a hit, then that doesn’t really count as a win, huh?”
“Dude, you’re not making sense,” Flame said exasperatedly. “If you die, then you don’t win either. What’s even your logic here?” He stepped forward again. “Just fight me, bro, you were so eager before.”
“Yeah, well I’m not anymore,” Wemmbu replied flatly. And when Flame didn’t say anything back, he added, “I’m just in a bad mood.”
Flame opened his mouth to reply but stopped before he could say anything. Blinking, Wemmbu realized that his gaze had shifted to where his hands were wrapped around Gambit. The blood from his left hand had gotten all over the handle and was beginning to drip onto the mace itself. “You’re one of the only people who own a mace, and you’re letting your blood get all over it, bro,” Flame spoke after a few moments.
Wemmbu’s tail swished. Was he imagining things or did the conversation just completely shift? “Uh…” He couldn’t think of anything to say to that actually. He probably should keep Gambit cleaner. He usually did though. Why hadn’t he cleaned it recently?
“Do you always walk around with open wounds?” Flame asked, face twisted in what was probably disgust. “Your hand’s gonna get infected.” He looked back up at Wemmbu, and for some reason, Wemmbu felt a little cornered.
“Wha- Where did this come from, bro? Why do you care all of the sudden?” Wemmbu asked, getting slightly defensive. Wasn’t Flame about to fight him just now?
Flame shrugged. “Well I think I figured out what’s going on. You’re trying to die right? That’s what that ‘bad mood’ you were talking about meant?” Wemmbu tried to respond but Flame cut him off. “But if you’re dead then I can’t have my rematch, right?” He took another step forward, he was within reaching distance now. Wemmbu didn’t step back. “So I’m just not gonna let you die.”
Wemmbu blinked a few times. What? “What?”
Without warning, Flame reached out and grabbed Wemmbu’s forearm, the one that didn’t have a bleeding hand attached to it, his mind supplied uselessly, and began dragging him away from the cliffside.
And Wemmbu did try to pull away, he really did. He obviously wasn’t going to let himself get dragged around like a ragdoll without putting up a fight. He was the strongest on the server after all.
But… he also noticed, after he dug his heels into the ground to stop moving and was then promptly pulled forward effortlessly with one hand, that he wasn’t actually able to stop himself from getting dragged around like a ragdoll. And to be fair, he had lost, and was actively losing, a decent amount of blood which left him a bit dizzy and lightleaded. But it wasn’t just that. Wemmbu could tell the difference between the effects of blood loss versus just not being able to do something.
A small seed of dread began forming in his chest as he tried, and failed, to pull away from Flame again. Why wasn’t he able to pull away? Wemmbu had beaten Flame, he was stronger than him. How was all of his effort being contested by one single hand? Flame wasn’t even struggling!
Suddenly, Flame stopped and made them both sit down on some flat rock. “Gimmie your hand,” he said firmly before placing down a shulker and looking through it.
Wemmbu drew back. “Why would I ever do that?” He was still a bit distracted by his sudden weakness though. Could Flame tell? Probably, right? He was certainly aware of how easy it was to pull Wemmbu along just now. And if Flame knew then would he go and tell everyone else? Then everyone would think he was weak again, just like before. Without realizing it, his breathing became slightly faster. Did that mean he would have to prove to everyone that he was actually strong again? But how would he be able to do that if he was so weak all of the sudden? Why was he so weak all of the sudden-
“Because bro,” the sound of Flame’s voice broke Wemmbu out of his thoughts, “I’m gonna fix your hand, just give it to me.”
Wemmbu blinked as Flame pulled a roll of bandages and some medicine out of his shulker. After a few moments of silence, his brain caught up to him and he blurted out, “Why would you do that?”
Flame ran a hand down his face and groaned. “Bro, have you been listening to a word I’ve been saying this whole time?” Apparently, he got sick of waiting for Wemmbu to give him his hand and just grabbed it himself. Wemmbu went to protest, but Flame continued talking. “I already told you, I’m not gonna let you die or anything like that. I don’t know what happened to you, or why you’re being so weird, but I’m not having it, bro.”
Wemmbu just stared for a second, confused, before his skin started burning from the medicine Flame was putting on it. “Dude that hurts, just let me do it myself,” he protested, attempting to pull his arm back. Flame had a death-grip on his wrist though, so he didn’t get very far. “I still don’t get why you’re even doing this, like, are we not rivals?”
“Oh my- why do you have to be so difficult, bro?” Flame complained, rubbing the medicine in extra hard. “If it hurts that means it’s infected, which means if I wasn’t doing this then you would be in trouble. And you clearly can’t bandage your own wounds for shit anyways.” He nodded to Wemmbu’s other hand which he had haphazardly bandaged up last week after using it to feed his mace.
“What’s wrong with my bandaging skills?”
Flame looked at him for a second. “It’s a miracle you’re not already dead bro.”
Wemmbu didn’t know if he should take offense to that or be proud. But considering he almost jumped off a cliff like two minutes ago, he probably shouldn’t be too happy. “Okay, well you still didn’t exactly answer my question from earlier. I get you’re doing this because you don’t want me to die or whatever, but are we not literal enemies? Why would you help me?”
Flame gave him an incredulous look. “Yeah, we are,” he spoke slowly, “so who am I gonna fight if you’re dead, bro. Use your brain.”
And that… made sense, Wemmbu supposed. He couldn’t say he exactly hated having someone to constantly challenge. But it still was at least a little unexpected to see Flame being so… nice? Or maybe just not evil.
“Do you have any other open wounds I should know about?” Flame asked, beginning to wrap the bandage around Wemmbu’s hand now. He wasn’t being gentle or anything, and that was appreciated.
Wemmbu actually had to stop and think about that one. He definitely had a lot of injuries right now. He hadn’t really been focused on taking care of himself recently, so he hadn’t bothered with any of them. The only reason he even bandaged up his other hand was because he had to use it to hold his mace. “Probably not,” he decided on after thinking about it. He had a lot of wounds, yes, but they were probably all at least closed by now.
“What do you mean ‘probably not’ bro?” Flame asked him like he was insane. “How do you not know?”
Probably because Wemmbu’s been too exhausted to care about anything. But Flame doesn’t need to know that! “I’ve just been busy, bro, I don’t have time to worry about all that stuff.”
“Yeah, well look where that got you bro,” Flame muttered under his breath, though it was obvious that he meant for Wemmbu to hear him. “You’re not gonna be good at fighting if you’re constantly covered in unhealed injuries.”
Wemmbu actually rolled his eyes. “Dude, whatever. I’m not gonna take advice from someone who lost to me.” He did, however, roll up his sleeve a bit just to check if actually did have any cuts that reopened or something. It couldn’t hurt, and if Flame was willing to bandage him up for free then he might as well.
“Bro, that wasn’t even a fair fight-” Flame started saying before cutting himself off abruptly. His hands froze in their bandaging too.
“What?” Wemmbu asked as he looked back up. And it was only when he saw what Flame’s eyes were focused on that he understood. That was… well… not good. Flame was staring at his arm. Which normally wouldn’t be an issue… except Wemmbu had been using that particular arm to get blood for his mace. So it looked pretty bad.
“Wemmbu,” Flame started, and his voice sounded wrong. He was speaking way softer than he normally did. “What did you…” he reached out a hand, but the minute his fingers made contact, Wemmbu stood up and backed away.
His chest felt unusually tight as he stood there rolling his sleeve back down. Flame wasn’t acting normal. He wasn’t supposed to be speaking so softly to him. He wasn’t supposed to be looking at him like that. “Look, you patched up my hand like you wanted to right?” he asked, voice just a little more tense than normal. Looking down at his hand proved that Flame was pretty much done anyway. “So we’re done here.”
As he began placing down the shulker that held his elytra, Wemmbu saw Flame stand up out of the corner of his eye. “Wait bro. I wasn’t trying to upset you or anything.”
God, why was he still talking like that? Wemmbu’s hands, which were shaking slightly, moved faster to grab his rockets. He needed to leave. He didn’t know why Flame was being so weird, but it was making his chest feel uncomfortably tight, and he didn’t like that.
Turning his back on Flame, Wemmbu equipped his elytra and spammed rockets until he was out of sight.
Distantly, though, he could hear Flame calling after him.