Chapter Text
Flame’s ombré hair faded into fiery orange, mirroring the determination burning in his eyes as it caught the pale moonlight.
The moon hung above them, silent and indifferent to the two hearts weighed down by shadows.
Wemmbu had thought, hoped, that there had been something between them. A spark. A connection. An unlikely trust forged through shared connection.
Looking back now, it seemed almost foolish.
But after surviving against all odds, one thousand players against just the two of them, how could he not have believed it?
He guessed it had all been a lie.
FlameFrags had always valued his honor above everything else. And Wemmbu, he knew for certain, couldn’t change that.
Still, a small, quiet smile tugged at his lips. “You can be the strongest,” he said.
“That’s it?” Flame asked, a trace of surprise, or maybe amusement, in his voice.
“Yeah,” Wemmbu replied, the words simple but heavy with meaning.
Wemmbu stood broken and worn down, battered by the chaos of the last few hours, alone at the ledge of a deep TNT crater he’d carved into the earth himself.
In his hand rested a mace, one he earned after the slaughter.
A symbol of what he once chased. Unmatched power, absolute dominance, the rarest weapon on the server. Something he’d sworn to destroy in others until he alone remained worthy of it.
Slowly, he loosened his grip.
The mace tumbled, clattering deeper into the crater until the darkness swallowed it whole.
It was a message. A silent vow meant for no one but himself.
He was done hoarding power.
Done pretending strength was the only thing that gave him worth.
Done trying to crown himself “the strongest.”
A low chuckle escaped him. Truthfully, he was tired.
“Like, obviously we don’t like each other,”
“When have I ever not liked you?”
He squeezed his eyes shut. He was tired of being misunderstood.
Tired of trying to live like a normal player when he knew, deep down, there would always be people who wanted him gone.
He stared into the crater’s depths. The jagged drop he stood beside like a precipice carved just for him.
An invitation.
A way out.
He considered it. It would be easy. So, so easy.
But before he could let himself fall, a thought cut through the numbness, soft, fragile, grounding.
Eggchan.
He wilted. He couldn’t leave him. Not while he was trapped in the End. Not while he was alone.
Clarity settled over him like cool rain.
He stepped back from the ledge.
But before he could breathe, a familiar voice echoed from above.
“Hey buddy.”
He froze. “…Hello?”
Lettuce descended with ease, landing on a ledge across from him in immaculate, shimmering netherite. His eyes swept Wemmbu’s battered form, and he let out an impressed whistle. “Wow.”
Wemmbu instinctively clutched his injured arm. Standing beside Lettuce, he suddenly felt small, his chipped armor, torn bandages, and dwindling supplies painting a clear picture of what he’d just survived: a thousand lawmen, followed by Flame.
“You’ve definitely seen better days,” Lettuce said, his tone smooth, almost amused, eyes sharp enough to peel away every defense Wemmbu had left.
Still, Wemmbu mustered a grin. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Lettuce laughed, the sound bouncing off stone in a way that made Wemmbu’s ears ring. “That was quite the show. Honestly? Impressive.” There was something hungry in his gaze. Calculating.
Then his expression shifted, something clicking behind his eyes.
Wemmbu didn’t like it.
“You’ve definitely been in better gear situations too, no?” Lettuce gestured lazily to the cuts, the half‑broken armor, the trembling in Wemmbu’s hands.
Before Wemmbu could reply, Lettuce equipped his elytra and dove deeper into the pit.
Wemmbu faltered, every limb screaming in protest, the crushing fatigue from facing a thousand lawmen followed immediately by his brutal duel with Flame finally catching up to him at the worst possible time.
He forced himself upward, spamming his last few wind charges, trying to mine an escape. Every movement sent pain shooting up his palms. He hissed.
He didn’t get far.
Lettuce returned, landing lightly beside him, this time holding something in his hands.
“Thanks for this, by the way.”
He lifted the mace.
His mace.
The symbol of power he cast aside, now in Lettuce’s hands.
Wemmbu swallowed the rising dread and tried to regain control. “Soo… your entire army just died.” He let out a shaky laugh, hoping the confidence didn’t look as hollow as it felt.
Lettuce’s expression twisted into mock sorrow. “Unfortunate, right?”
The tone made it clear, none of those soldiers had ever mattered to him.
Then he smiled. It was wide, sharp and unsettling.
“But the way you are now…” Lettuce’s gaze slid over him, dissecting him piece by piece.
“I don’t think I need an army to take you with me.”
Wemmbu forced a breathy laugh, but he felt the truth of it sink in.
Lettuce had full netherite. Full durability. Full strength.
And Wemmbu? No rockets. No backup. No escape.
“So what’s going to happen now,” Lettuce continued, voice calm and cruel,
“is you’re either going to die…”
He stepped closer, the mace glinting in his hand.
“…or you’re going to come with me.”
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Flamefrags won.
That was the outcome of him and Wemmbu’s battle.
After many months of seeking a rematch with his rival, he had finally regained the honor he had lost.
So why doesn’t it feel good?
Looking back, admittedly, Flamefrags would find their fight against 1000 lawmen enjoyable. The time spent preparing together in his base. He would never imagine a world where he would actually enjoy him and his rival’s bickering.
Fighting beside him instead of against him, ignited a feeling within Flame he didn’t know could exist. It felt exhilarating.
Which is exactly why he challenged Wemmbu to a rematch straight after their victory. He wanted to chase that feeling, the one he always associated with Wemmbu, that addictive high that Wemmbu always seemed to bring out.
Defeating him now however, looking down on Wemmbu’s defeated (tired?) expression in the crater, distinguished that feeling.
He thought finally reclaiming his title as strongest player would allow that feeling to surge, to intensify.
But instead it brought him disappointment and bitterness on his tongue. It didn’t feel satisfying, especially sensing that Wemmbu had given up halfway through their fight.
It felt incomplete.
Flame’s steps faltered on the grass.
Before he knew it, he turned back.
“Wemmbu?” he called out, “Wemmbu!”
There was no response.
Flame retraced his steps back to the crater where he last saw him, peering hopefully to see that purple figure whining and complaining about his loss.
There was no one.
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Time passed.
Flamefrags sought out battle after battle, winning each one with ease. None of them felt satisfying. The thrill was gone. Everything felt painfully ordinary.
Looting his third hunt of the week, he fell back into his bed with a thud.
This was routine—he should be used to it, he told himself. But something about it all felt wrong. Empty. He tried to pinpoint the last time he didn’t feel like he was stuck in this pointless loop.
Then it hit him.
Wemmbu.
When Wemmbu had challenged his position as the strongest, something lit up inside him. Something he didn’t even know he’d been missing. Nobody else had ever made his bones ache or his muscles burn from a real fight. Most people either ran or got flattened instantly. But Wemmbu… he pushed back. Hard.
At first their rivalry was stupid and small. Flame had assumed it would end as soon as he got serious.
But Wemmbu just kept getting stronger.
Eventually Flame found himself anticipating when their next clash would be. The mace user was unpredictable, chaotic, exciting. He made Flame’s never-ending quest for dominance feel fun again.
A drug he’d become addicted to.
And now he was going through withdrawal.
After their final fight following the battle against the 1000 lawmen, Wemmbu vanished. Again.
Rumors spread that Flame had killed him for real this time, finishing the duel once and for all. But Flame knew better.
Wemmbu wasn’t dead. He was out there somewhere, hiding like he always did.
A knock sounded at the door.
Flame shot upright, instantly alert. Maybe the bandits he’d robbed earlier had come to get their loot back. He grabbed Fragger from beside the bed and approached the door slowly.
He cracked it open.
Parrot and Theobald stood outside, shivering in the cold.
“We need your help,” Parrot said.
Flame raised a brow. The last time they spoke was when they teamed up to expose Wemmbu’s invisible disguise and even then it was more of a transaction than teamwork. Parrot showing up uninvited was already a red flag.
He debated shutting the door in their faces. Any involvement with Parrot only ever brought complications.
But Parrot never asked for help unless he were truly desperate.
“…For?” Flame asked cautiously.
“In exterminating the Law,” Parrot said. “Lettuce has been rallying people. If we don’t stop him, the server falls to a dictator.”
Flame scoffed. Charity wasn’t his thing. Especially not political charity.
“Find someone else,” he waved dismissively. “This isn’t my problem.”
Since killing those 1000 lawmen Lettuce had left him alone, and Flame was perfectly fine with returning the favor.
Parrot opened his mouth, hesitated. He then said the only words that could have stopped Flame in his tracks.
“Wemmbu’s there.”
Flame froze.
“…What?”
“Well, who we think is Wemmbu,” Theo clarified. “Lettuce has this guard. Usually his guards are pushovers, but this one? He’s… a problem.”
“A problem, how?” Flame asked, raising a brow.
“He’s strong,” Parrot said. “Uses a mace. And there’ve been sightings saying the mace is…”
Parrot and Theo exchanged a look.
“…Gambit.”
Gambit. Wemmbu’s signature weapon. Flame had never seen him without it.
Flame narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t you just look at their face?”
“They wear a veil,” Parrot said. “Impossible to identify. But if Wemmbu never parts with his weapon… and the skill matches… then we can only assume.”
Flame went quiet.
Normally, nothing could’ve convinced him to join Parrot in anything. But this? Wemmbu, maybe Wemmbu, was something else entirely. And even if it wasn’t him, someone wielding Gambit with that level of skill had to be worth fighting.
Maybe they’d have answers. Maybe they’d give him a lead.
After a long moment, Flame made his decision.
“Fine,” he said, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “Where do we start?”
Parrot and Theo led him to a temporary base, stone walls, makeshift tables, the usual.
Flame blinked when he saw who was already there.
“Spoke?”
“Flame!” Spoke called, lounging on a chair like nothing in the world could bother him.
“What are you doing here?”
“Spoke’s also trying to stop the Law,” Parrot explained. “He actually approached us first.”
“That’s right!” Spoke whined. “Those annoying B.A.T people are working with the Law. Hunting me down nonstop. It’s awful.”
Flame snorted. “The Law really has been racking up enemies since last time I saw them.”
“Right? And they still preach about ‘justice.’ Total crap,” Spoke huffed.
“The plan is simple,” Parrot said. “We stop the Law. There’s another rally coming up, all of Unstable is invited. That’s where Lettuce will strike next.”
“I only care about Wemmbu,” Flame said. “I’ll fight him. You guys handle the complicated stuff.”
“Spoke can handle the hidden guards, manage the perimeter, disable reinforcements, and make sure we aren’t overwhelmed.” Parrot said. Spoke gave a cheerful salute.
“Me and Theo will take Lettuce.”
Flame tilted his head. “And what exactly are you planning to do with Lettuce? Even if you kill him, someone will just take his place.”
Parrot sighed. “We have a plan for that. The goal is to stop this world from falling under a dictator. That means dismantling the Law at its core.”
Flame then raised an eyebrow at Spoke. “So… why exactly are you here? Last I checked, you don’t really associate well with anyone.”
Spoke shrugged lazily, grinning like he had no cares in the world. “True, I usually do my own thing. But when the Law started ramping up their attacks, it got personal. They were hunting me for a month straight, spamming traps, sending mercs after me, stealing my resources. I realized trying to fight them solo? Yeah… not the brightest idea.”
Parrot stepped forward, giving a sharp nod. “Spoke has knowledge of the Law’s smaller operations. He’s been tracking them for weeks, gathering intel. That’s why he’s valuable. He knows where they’re weakest.”
Flame crossed his arms, sizing him up. “And I’m supposed to trust you just like that?”
Spoke chuckled. “Nope. But if you want to find your favorite mace-wielder, you’re gonna need someone who knows the Law’s moves. That’s me. Consider it… mutual interest.”
Flame glanced at Parrot and Theo, then back at Spoke. “And you’re not going to betray us in the middle of a fight?”
“Me?” Spoke scoffed, leaning back in the chair. “I have no reason to. Besides, I want the Law gone as much as you do. And trust me, I’m way more interested in surviving the chaos than starting any.”
Flame tilted his head, a slow smirk forming. “Fine. But make one wrong move, and I won’t hesitate.”
Spoke’s grin widened. “Fair enough. No hard feelings, Flame. I’m not here for feelings.”
Parrot clapped his hands once, cutting through the tension. “Alright, we know our roles yeah? Remember them."
Spoke saluted mockingly, a menu of exploits flickering in front of him. “Got it, boss. I promise to keep things interesting.”
Flame shook his head, muttering, “Somehow I doubt that will be necessary.”
Parrot raised a hand, silencing any further argument. “The key point is coordination. We can’t just rush in blindly. We take control of the rally, neutralize the guards, and confront Lettuce in one clean strike.”
Flame’s eyes narrowed, thinking of Wemmbu. “And if the guard turns out to not be him?”
Parrot exhaled. “Then we adapt. But we’re taking the risk. The chance to face him again is too valuable to ignore.”
Spoke leaned forward, voice dropping slightly. “And if it is him? Well… let’s just say I’ve got ways to keep him from doing too much damage before you get your shot, Flame.”
Flame’s hand twitched toward Fragger instinctively. “Thanks, but I won’t need it.”
A moment of silence fell over them as the reality of the plan settled. They were all aware of the dangers ahead, but there was a strange, unspoken trust forming between the four of them. Everyone had a role, and the entire plan depended on it.
Finally, Parrot spoke, his tone firm. “We move at dawn. Rest up, prepare yourselves. Tomorrow, we hit the Law where it hurts the most.”
Flame cracked a grin, a thrill running down his spine. “Fine. But just so we’re clear… my focus isn’t on saving the world.”
Spoke rolled his eyes, leaning back. “We figured that out already. You just want your duel.”
Flame smirked, eyes glinting. “Exactly.”
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“What’s your plan here?” Wemmbu asked skeptically, only just trailing along the path Lettuce walked in front of him. The Law had him subdued, stripped of all his weaponry and armour.
They eventually stopped at a contraption, a dispenser and a pressure plate laid before them. “Stand over there,” Lettuce commanded.
It was obviously some sort of trap. But given Wemmbu’s current circumstances, there was no way out of this without getting killed.
Reluctantly, he walked over to the spot Lettuce had gestured to, bracing himself for some sort of binding carved pumpkin to pop out as a sort of sick joke from Lettuce.
It was so much worse.
Before Wemmbu could register what was happening, a heavy weight clamped around his neck, causing a searing pain to shoot through him.
He doubled over, the sudden weight throwing him off balance.
All of a sudden finding it difficult to breathe, he tried clawing at the foreign piece of armor on his neck, coughing violently as his actions rendered useless.
“Now you’re really powerless against me,” Lettuce smiled.
When Wemmbu finally recovered with some rapid breathes, he glared up from where he lay, shooting Lettuce an icy glare.
“You really think this tacky thing can suppress me?” He said as a challenge.
“No,” Lettuce’s head tilted. “I know it will.”
Before Wemmbu could question how Lettuce was so confident, he interrupted him.
“Here’s lesson number one, Wemmbu.” He crouched from where he stood, now at eye-level where Wemmbu lay. His expression remained smug, aware he held all the cards here.
“You will now listen and do everything I order, and disobedience will be met with correction.”
Wemmbu barked a laugh. Lettuce had gotten cocky. “What am I? Some sort of lapdog? There’s no way I’ll listen to any order you spout-“
All of a sudden, he seized, an electrifying pain unlike any he’s ever experience shot through his entire body.
He’s used to pain from the countless battles he’s fought, any bleeding wound or injury he can tank easily. It took a lot to make Wemmbu even flinch at any wound inflicted on him.
Until now.
The pain which radiated from his neck was far more gruesome than any stab wound Wemmbu had received, and it coursed through his entire body to the tips of his nerves.
A sharp cry escaped him.
“That,” Lettuce said simply, “is what will happen when you disobey.”
Recovering from the initial shock, he lay breathless, panting in an attempt to catch his breath. One of his hands desperately shot up, trying to pry the thing off his neck. “What…” he coughed, “is this?”
Lettuce gave out a laugh, standing up from where he was crouched. “Do you like it? It’s a collar, reserved especially for you.”
He knocked on the metal encompassing his neck, it was sturdy, glowing with enchantments he could not name. “Made of ancient netherite, which you know is hard to come across.”
From Wemmbu’s touch, he could feel the dips of engravings on the cold metal, one that he was mildly familiar with.
Curse of Binding.
“It will help me ensure you always stay in line and secure you as my… personal weapon.” Lettuce revealed.
Wemmbu eventually stood up, using the wall as leverage. He let out a laugh. “Are you really so weak that you would turn to cheap tricks so that I would work for you, you absolute-“
Another cry rang out.
“Lesson two,” Lettuce’s voice slipped into his ears, cold and deliberate. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”
Wemmbu’s breath hitched. Even through the agony, he knew this was only the beginning, and the next part would be far, far worse.
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