Chapter Text
Fluixon had lied, cheated, and schemed his way through life. He met the grim reaper in passing, shoulders brushing but never meeting properly. Despite every trap and plot to take him down, to end his reign of terror, to bring the world justice, Fluixon wouldn’t die.
Fate catches up to him in Westhelm.
With the blood of hundreds of people dripping down his hands, he enters the overbearing colosseum with the cries of war in the distance. Infernus burns on the volcano it overlooks. Infernus burns because of it’s own shortcomings. Fluixon leaves a burning building and enters a different kind as ashes rain down.
He stands face-to-face with Saparata.
Saparata, who was always better than him when they sparred. Saparata, who was widely adored. Saparata, who had looked him in the eyes and declared him a friend moments before Fluixon drove the blade of betrayal into his spine.
Guilt comes in passing. Behind Saparata, the grim reaper looks on. Behind Fluixon, Thomas watches with the same knowledge that he possesses– this was a losing battle from the start. Fluixon only has breaking armor, low energy, and little to no food to restore his vigour with other than golden apples.
Part of him, somewhere stowed away far, far below the rationale and the cold cunning it took to bring him here, wishes he could go back and change it. If nothing else, if he could close the wound he cut into Saparata’s trust. It was a pipe dream of an idea. He buries it once again and draws his sword.
The fight between them is a blur. The clatter of weaponry, armor, and heavy breathing and grunts only come in flashes. Adrenaline spikes. Fever pitch rising, Fluixon swings a poor blow and misses Saps entirely. He stumbles. He falters, and that’s all it takes.
Saparata raises his axe from behind. He can see it, the shadow of him rising it high over his head, and he swaps the items in his hands in terror.
Fluixon should have died right there on the ground.
“What the– What just happened?!”
Fluixon uses the shower of sparks to run on shaking legs to the other side of the colosseum, not slowing once until he crashes into the wall. The sound of a totem rings in his ears, and he closes his eyes as his head spins.
The grim reaper puts a hand on his shoulder. It promises to be back again.
He pants, chest heaving under his armor. He leans against the colosseum wall. His throat burns, his muscles burn, and his skin is hot and sticky with sweat. His ears continue to ring deafeningly.
The small crowd gathered in the stands– Conquesodors, if he remembers correctly, all gasp and boo his name. They shout for Saparata to end this, hit him while his back is turned, kill him and end this while he still can.
Fluixon looks over his shoulder at Saparata carefully approaching. He straightens his back and raises his shield. Flux looks down at his feet and sees his legs shaking.
He reaches up and pulls his helmet off, throwing it to the ground. He discards his sword and shield as well, then turns to press his back to the wall as his chest heaves. He looks at Saparata for a moment, then gestures to the items on the ground.
There was no way in the world this should work.
“Flux,” caution rings through Saparata’s exhausted tone. His fist tightens around the handle of his axe. His undressed shield is torn to bits with splintering wood. It isn’t as bad as the torn banner of Infernus’s phoenix on the discarded one.
Flux collapses gracelessly to the ground.
Saparata takes a step closer. “Fluixon.”
He pushes himself up onto his knees with sheer willpower. He keeps his head low. In the loudest voice he can manage, he clears his throat and declares:
“I surrender.”
He lifts both hands over his head.
“You win, Saps. I give up.”
Saparata stares at him with a foreign emotion. His brow is knit and his jaw is set. He watches Flux sway exhaustedly. He’s helpless and defenseless on the ground. He stares back with the most human face he can muster.
Saparata looks at the axe in his hand, then Fluixon again. After a moment’s deliberation, he throws the axe far out of both of their reaches and closes the gap.
He kneels down at Fluixon’s level. “Why do you do these things?”
“Be more specific,” Flux croaks. “I’ve done a lot.”
'Why do you have to make this so difficult?” He narrows his eyes.
Anxiety riles high in his system. This could be a trap he set for himself. He eyes the sword he discarded nearby. If he reaches quickly enough, he could defend himself, at least long enough to leave and die on his own terms–
Saparata notices and grabs it first. He stands up. Fluixon feels his heart sink and drops his head so he doesn’t have to look at it. He watches Saparata raise it and squeezes his eyes shut.
An expectant moment passes. Then another. Then, the clatter of it hitting the ground a few feet away has him lifting his head. Sapatata had thrown it away as well, far out of either of their grasps. He looks at Saps, who’s turned to address the Conquesodors who are now joined by Emperor Schpood.
“I accept the surrender.” He says.
Schpood nearly flies over the railing. “This colosseum is for fighting to the death! You bastards–!!”
Saparata looks back at Flux, then Schpood. “Third rule. He tapped out, and I refuse to participate.”
Schpood’s face screws up, and he turns around in a huff to descend the stairs as he barks orders to the Westhelm military.
Saparata turns to Fluixon again. He extends both hands. Flux allows himself to be pulled to his feet. He’s kept at arm’s length. Saparata keeps his armor on and looks at him warily from beneath the helmet. His face has a thousand questions crossing it.
“I’m sorry,” are the first words to leave Fluixon’s mouth. “That wasn’t– I wasn’t expecting to– it had been for Infernus–”
He can’t settle on a truth.
“How did you get an illegal item, Fluixon?” Saps asks, and something stings literally and metaphorically. He winces as he opens his mouth to answer, and his brain is mush and he’s exhausted but he tries to–
Schpood barrels out of nowhere and bodies Fluixon into the colosseum wall.
“You’re coming here to desecrate my colosseum with your cheats and your awful duel etiquette!” He spits, and then says more and more. Righteous fury is set into the hard lines of his face.
Fluixon turns his head to avoid looking at him. He looks on petulantly, scowl dressing his face as he’s held to the wall and forced to bear the brunt of Westhelm’s hatred for him condensed into one man. Schpood falls into unintelligible, enraged shouting.
Saparata puts his hand on Schpood’s shoulder and works his way between the two.
“Come on, Schpood, he surrendered.”
“You’re just as unbelievable for accepting it!” Schpood turns on him. “Did you forget who he is?! Did you hit your head in Infernus?! My god, Saps, this man is the world’s biggest enemy!”
“Yeah, I know,” Saps looks over his shoulder at Flux. “We can take care of that later.”
Schpood clenches his jaw. “I want that man in every shackle in all of the islands this instant.”
At the snap of a finger, Westhelm guards take Flux into custody. Swords, bows, axes, and crossbows are all aimed at him in the blink of an eye. He shrinks into himself and allows the guards to take him by the arms.
“I need every surviving leader from both islands at the Capital now.” Schpood looks at Saps bitterly. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Fluixon is paraded down Westhelm’s main road to the Capital. Boos ring out. It’s a miracle he made it alive with the onlookers shouting and throwing things at him. He stares at the ground blankly the entire time. He stays focused on the ground as they strip his armor and place him in a makeshift cell of iron bars.
Once whatever surviving leaders of the world have piled into the hall, they begin the conversation. Everyone is disheveled and/or bloody. Uniforms are tattered and singed.
“I’m sure everyone can see the problem in the room.” Schpood clears his throat and begins. “Thank Saparata for that.”
Cass looks at him instantly. “Can you explain why he isn’t dead?”
“It’s– it’s a, uh, a long story,” Saps manages mindlessly.
She looks skeptical. “There’s time.”
“Point is, somebody has to take responsibility,” Schpood finishes a long-winded argument full of gripes about his colosseum. He lifts a finger up and points at Saps. “And I suggest Saparata does, since he’s gotten us into this mess.”
“And we can’t just kill him?” Legacy asks, leaning to look at Fluixon in the improvised cell. He pretends to check his nails disinterestedly.
“No.” Saparata says adamantly. “That’s, like, a douchebag move.”
“Jail, then?”
“He probably has a trap or… or something in every corner of the world.” Tricolour’s leader chimes in. “He’d be free within hours.”
“Which is why we give him to Saps!” Schpood says.
“They’ve tried to kill each other from the start.” Cass says. “Saps, do you want to take Flux?”
Saparata thinks for a moment. Fluixon snorts from across the room pointedly.
“Of course he doesn’t,” he says. “Saps would lose his temper and I’d escape in no time.”
Saps grimaces and looks back at him. He throws him a dirty look. “Yes, Schpood, I’d love to take Flux home with me to my island. I feel bad for him.”
He sees Flux bristle and then look away with a sneer. Saps turns back to the table. In a room full of powerful people, he feels like a poser. He tastes blood on the inside of his lip. He still can’t fathom taking his armor off. The whole room feels particularly inclined to hate him, and it’s a woefully familiar feeling.
Cass sighs and rubs her forehead. “Are you sure you want to take him?”
Saparata shrugs. “Sure. I mean, if you kill him, he just gets off easy. That’s not really a punishment, right? If I take him, then he’s gotta think about stuff, and– and that’d be, like, way worse for him.”
Legacy tilts his head. “He’s… he’s got a point, kind of?”
“I still think we should kill him.” Freshman, Aperion’s president replies. “And Saps, for good measure.”
“What did I do?!” Saparata shrieks, holding his hands out.
Schpood pinches his brow and makes a tense noise, before he points at Freshman and shakes his head. “Talk about that outside. I don’t care what happens to either of them once they’re out of Westhelm, but I don’t want to deal with their bodies here.”
Fluixon tilts his head from inside the cage. “So what happens if they get Saps first?”
Cass bursts out laughing. “You’re not making it two steps away from him before you get shot full of arrows!”
“Right… so I guess we hand him over to Saps and get him out of sight.” Legacy says.
Saps turns around in his seat to look at Flux with the most disgustingly smug expression ever. Fluixon narrows his eyes lethally at him as the iron cage he’s stuck in is opened and he’s taken out by the arms.
Schpood approaches him and claps him on the back so hard that he jumps. “Congratulations, Saps! Fluixon is your problem now!”
They load Flux onto a boat with Saps, hands bound together behind his back. There’s a guard on either side of them as they prepare to send Saps off. He has a permanent grimace set into his face as he sits there, bent over himself bitterly.
Saparata is busy hyping himself up to get close to him again, when Cass comes up behind him.
“You know,” she starts casually. “Nobody’s gonna think twice if he just… dies, right? Like, if he gets out of hand, then we all understand.”
Saparata forces a very strained, watery smile. “Yeah, I picked up on that. Don’t worry. He’s a lot more harmless than you think.”
“If you change your mind, then say the word and…” she makes a gesture over her throat. Saparata nods. “If you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I get it, thanks Cass.” He says. “Seriously, he’s not that bad. I’ll be fine.”
“Offer’s still on the table.” She shrugs and leaves with a wave.
Saparata takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. He moves to the boat and stands over Flux. He taps the side of the boat with his boot and clears his throat.
Flux looks over his shoulder at Saps.
“Can I help you?” He frowns.
“Can you move back so I can fit in there?”
“Sure,” Flux moves back. “It's not like I need any space in here.”
“You’re half my size.”
“You’ve got armor on. Have we thought about using our heads for this?”
“Oh, yeah, so you can go ahead and backstab me literally this time. Yeah, Flux, my bad.” Saparata crosses his arms.
Fluixon straightens his back and nods to the open space in front of him.
“By all means, Saps,” he says bitterly. “Have a seat.”
Saparata scoffs and climbs into the boat. Fluixon leans back and tries to get as much space between them as possible in the cramped boat. He flexes his shoulders and frowns.
“You’re lucky I’m not letting anyone else put you in jail. You’d hate that, wouldn’t you?” Saparata looks at a callus forming on his palm. He hisses and flexes his hand– it stung when he gripped the oar.
“Don’t act like you’re doing me a service and saving me.” Fluixon huffs.
“I’m not. I’m doing you one better,” Saparata looks over his shoulder. “I’m making your life hell the same way you did to me.”
“Is that what this is? Bringing me to your little paradise island and calling it punishment? How terrible.”
“Give it time.” Saps sits up. “I absolutely hate your guts.”
“I’m thrilled that it’s mutual.” Flux spits.
He sounds tired. His voice is hoarse and small for the venom he was trying to put into it. He looked like a worn-out toy. Ash and blood is smudged across his face and clothes. He had a massive gash across his leg, cut through the clothing on his thigh and filled with dirt and debris. He hisses when his leg brushes something.
The Westhelm guards on either side escorted them silently. Fluixon fell silent for a bit. He stares at the ocean waters lapping at the side of the acacia boat. It was the dead of night, and they would be back before the sun came up.
The rhythm of the water rocks Fluixon back and forth. That, along with his exhaustion led to him swaying in his seat, slouched forward and bumping into Saparata every now and then.
The illuminated eastern shoreline of Tricolour comes into view. Fluixon shifts in the seat to lean away from Saparata. He keeps his head down as the looming statue of Jophiel comes into view. He continues to rock. His head bumps onto the armor on Saparata’s back. He groans and shifts away.
Saps has to wonder if he’s seasick.
“Are you gonna throw up or something?" He asks.
Fluixon sits up straight. “I’m fine.”
He sways again and clears his throat.
“You should, uh, get some rest.” Saparata advises. “You can lean on me.”
Fluixon bursts out laughing. “I’d rather go overboard.”
“Just go to sleep.”
Flux grimaces, or at least that’s what Saps imagines he does. He stays quiet for a moment before he awkwardly scoots closer in the boat. Hesitantly, he leans forward until his head rests between Sap’s shoulderblades.
“You’re so naive.” Fluixon mumbles into his back.
Saparata grumbles and just continues to row the boat. “Thanks, Flux.”
“Don’t mention it…” He murmurs. His weight slowly falls into Saparata until he’s totally limp against him.