Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Zam isn’t sure he’s ever been this beat down. The empire he has devoted blood, sweat, and tears to is falling around him. Half his armor has broken, and the relentless rain has soaked through his clothes so thoroughly that they weigh down his movements. He is exhausted, and he desperately longs for them to just stop fighting . It isn’t that easy. The person he’s fighting against is not rational in the least, nor does he have any sort of moral ground keeping him from killing Zam right here.  

Wemmbu tries to get another hit in—just before he lands it, Zam blocks using his shield, the insignia of his empire on it surely covered in sword marks by now. Both of them are fighting recklessly now, desperately . But not with the same goal.  

Zam is trying to get Wemmbu weak enough for him to yield.  

Wemmbu is clearly trying to, by any means necessary, end Zam’s life and ban him off the server.  

It’s justified. Zam gets why he’s got that gleam in his eye, a sort of bloodlust that drove him to come back here and blow up everything Zam holds dear, then attempt to finish the job and murder him in cold blood. Zam did betray Wemmbu, and it was wrong—it’s easy to say that now, when it led to being backed into this corner—but he feels like this is overkill.  

Zam doesn’t block the next hit—he’s too busy trying to puzzle together a way for both of them to get out of this alive. He gets a few of his own in, though, since Wemmbu carelessly put himself in close quarters and got himself stuck in webs in the process.  

Wemmbu’s totem pops, and for just a moment, Zam sees fear in the other man’s eyes. Good. Maybe Zam can talk some sense into him.  

“This isn’t worth—” He backs up just a little, putting space between them in the hole where they’ve been dueling, as if to show that he doesn’t intend to kill him. He’s literally been saying this whole time that he doesn’t want to kill Wemmbu. Not just because of his morals, but also out of a place of past camaraderie. “We can stop now.” But Wemmbu is desperately trying to free himself from the cobwebs. That ounce of fear is gone, vanished so quickly that Zam could have imagined it. “Are you ready to stop? Or are you gonna keep fighting?”  

Zam places another cobweb to keep him there whenever Wemmbu breaks it. Zam hits him once with his sword, twice, cautiously. He’s going to keep fighting, of course Wemmbu is. Zam prepares for another barrage of attacks. It doesn’t come.  

Wemmbu breaks the cobwebs again. Zam places more. What is Wemmbu playing at? Is he yielding? He hasn’t said anything. Why would he continue to free himself from the cobwebs if he did not intend to come at Zam again?  

After a moment, his voice low and resigned, Wemmbu admits, “You don’t really give me a choice, Zam.”  

“Really?” Zam asks, incredulously. Is he kidding? For this entire fight, Zam has repeatedly been giving Wemmbu chances to back out, reminding him that he doesn’t want to kill him. He’s been showing mercy, and all he’s gotten for it is a blown-up empire and a drawn-out fight that has been wearing him out. “I’ve given you multiple chances to just… put this behind us and leave! I didn’t want—”  

When Wemmbu speaks again, effectively cutting Zam off, he steps forward with his sword raised. There’s an indignant sort of anger in his expression that Zam doesn’t expect. “Yeah, but how am I supposed to put this behind me when you instigated everything? ”  

What? Zam literally did everything in his power so that Wemmbu could start a new life elsewhere, run away and not bother Zam again. “I—” He is cut off once again, and it strikes him like a blow—he is a king, after all, unused to being interrupted so callously.  

“Literally everything about this entire situation is your fault, bro. You started this when you decided to betray me.”  

They’re both silent for a moment, with Zam staring at him, a little baffled. Wemmbu looks like he’s on death’s door—no totem left, hardly any armor, beat up beyond belief. But he is staring death in the face, and he doesn’t look to be backing down.  

Zam knows he can’t win this argument. “Whatever, then. If that’s how it’s gonna be.” He raises his sword again in response to Wemmbu’s defensive stance. Wemmbu really wants him dead. He’s destroyed everything Zam has worked for, and yet, Wemmbu still wants to take his life.  

They trade blows, though the strength behind them has greatly diminished since the beginning of the duel. They are fairly matched—which tracks, since they spent a significant amount of time fighting beside one another like a well-oiled machine.  

He notices that by now, he’s getting many more hits in than Wemmbu is. Zam forces himself to swallow down the discomfort at the possibility of killing Wemmbu.   

It’s you or him, he keeps thinking. You or him.  

But it’s impossible to ignore the fact that killing Wemmbu would likely haunt him for life.  

Zam remembers their partnership--which hadn’t been too long ago--rather fondly, though he would never admit as much aloud. Wemmbu could carry a conversation like no one Zam had ever met, and he was fearsome to fight against, which had made him the perfect ally when their interests had aligned.  

There was always that voice in the back of his head, though—he knew that Wemmbu would cheat, lie, and betray to get what he wanted. And once their interests contrasted… Zam knew that his empire would be on the line.  

That had certainly been proven today. Now that Wemmbu was firmly against him, wounded and reeling from the betrayal, thirsty for vengeance, everything had been taken from Zam. He had been right to keep Wemmbu at arm’s length, but he’d gone about it the wrong way. Perhaps some of the taunting could have been toned down—perhaps, in this fight, Wemmbu is partially trying to prove to Zam that he isn’t the insignificant bug Zam had said that he is. Well, if that’s it, then unfortunately, all of this is for nothing. Zam has always known that, undeniably, Wemmbu is a force to be reckoned with. He had simply wanted to taunt Wemmbu into seeing Zam as superior to him—he'd wanted to intimidate him into submission, so that Wemmbu would run off and decide that screwing with Zam and his empire would only end in his demise.  

Unfortunately, Zam had miscalculated, because Wemmbu had done the exact opposite. He’d come here, having lost but not having been defeated, to finish off Zam and his empire once and for all.  

Wemmbu, whose movements have grown feverish and rather clumsy, found himself stuck in another cobweb.  

Zam took that opportunity to strike. One hit, two, three—  

Wemmbu choked out, “Wait, Zam! Please—”   

And then he collapsed ungracefully, hitting the ground of the cave with a thump .  

Zam’s sword was out of his hands in an instant. All he could think was fuck, fuck, fuck, no, what have I done—  

He cradles the body in his arms, begging, “Wemmbu! Wemmbu , I’m sorry, please wake up. I’m sorry.” Zam knows it’s too late—the logical part of him, in the back of his head, can’t deny it. But that doesn’t mean that it isn’t jarring to see Wemmbu, who could never fucking sit still for the life of him, so…  

Motionless. Limp.  

Zam hardly even registers that he’s crying—his tears mingle with the rain that has been running down his face for the entire fight.  

He hadn’t wanted this.   

He hadn’t wanted this.  

Zam had known it would come to this, that it was either him or Wemmbu. He tries to reason with himself that he’d been in the right, that it had been life-or-death, that it was what he’d needed to do for his own survival.  

Or was it? The last thing Wemmbu had said—Wait, Zam! Please—had been an acquiescence if Zam had ever heard one. If it had been only a moment sooner that Wemmbu swallowed his pride, if Zam had been able to see through his desperate need to survive this battle and stopped for a moment… 

A sharp, familiar voice cuts through his grief. “Hello, Zam.”  

No, that couldn’t be…? But when he looks up, it is Clownpierce standing a few blocks above him, at the entrance of the small hollow--one of the many around the empire, created by Wemmbu’s repeated orbital strikes—they'd been fighting in.  

“Clownpierce? What are you doing here?” He pulls Wemmbu’s lifeless body a little closer. If Clownpierce is here unbidden, it isn’t for good reason. Zam hasn’t asked this man for anything in quite a while, ever since he’d ordered Parrot’s assassination and Clown had failed to get rid of him. The most feared assassin on the server had failed to kill some guy who’s passable at puzzles but can hardly fight at all. Whatever. That isn’t of any relevance right now.  

“You wonder where your guards are?”  

Well, he hadn’t been actively wondering about that, but now that Clown mentioned it…   

Zam replies, eyes narrowing, “Yeah, actually, they all just disappeared.”   

“Yeah, they did.” Clown’s eyes, unreadable as ever, flick down to Wemmbu. “I see that I’m late to the party. Shame.” He tuts, then his gaze returns to Zam. “I was really looking forward to putting you both in the prison.”  

“... What? ” A prison? Zam can hardly wrap his head around this. He’s exhausted, and rain keeps getting in his eyes, and Clownpierce is apparently here to take Zam to some prison. He hasn’t done anything to provoke that, as far as he’s aware. Maybe this is Wemmbu’s doing—maybe this fight was supposed to stall Zam until Clown came. Wait, no, Clown had said that he’d wanted to put them both in prison.  

Clown shrugs, then takes out a bow. “Unimportant. I guess this will have to do instead.”  

By the time that Zam registers the threat on his life, the arrow is nocked, and something hits him in between the eyes.  

~ 𖤓 ~  

Zam’s eyes snap open. He gasps for breath, clutching his throbbing forehead.  

What the hell? What the hell?  

He is no longer in the hole he’d fought Wemmbu in. His armor is heavy, and it’s intact. He feels light on his feet, no longer in an adrenaline-fueled state of exhaustion.  

Okay, get your bearings. So, he does. Looking up, TNT is raining down on his empire in coordinated strikes, but for now, most of the buildings haven’t been decimated beyond recognition. Whether that is because this is one of the first rounds of explosives or the server lag has prevented any of the damage from loading in is beyond him.  

Figures on elytras are gliding through the onslaught of rain, pursuing a blur of purple. Presumably Wemmbu, but that doesn’t make sense, because Zam swears that he just killed Wemmbu. Regrettably, of course—he’s certain that act will scar him for life—but that doesn’t mean that it didn’t happen.  

Zam considers the fact that everything about the fight and its aftermath could have been an incredibly realistic dream. No, no , that can’t be right, because his forehead is still aching like he was hit with an arrow. Is there any chance that his own mind had simply fooled him into believing that the previous sequence had been real?  

He doesn’t feel any of the exhaustion. All of his armor is unbroken. All he has is the memories of something that he does not quite understand. Usually, with dreams, it all feels hazy—Zam might vaguely remember some peculiar thing that happened while he was asleep, but this is something else entirely.  

Besides, he’s standing up. Contrary to popular belief, Zam is not a horse—he, unfortunately, cannot sleep standing up. Even if he could, this does not seem an appropriate time. His empire is crumbling around him, and if this is history repeating itself here, then it’s Wemmbu’s fault. Is it possible that he passed out from the shock?  

Well, wait, what was that last thing Clown had said? ‘ I guess this will have to do instead’? Had he meant to kill Zam? Had he killed Zam?  

He holds his hands out in front of him. Turns them around, then back to palms up again so that drops of rain collect in his hands. He shakes them off.  

If he’s dead, then the afterlife feels much realer than it should.   

Is it possible that he’s reliving his last moments? Will they play on loop until Zam accepts his fate? Well, in that case, Zam certainly feels like he’s in control of his own actions. What the hell is going on?  

Zam is at the threshold of his castle’s front door, near the top of the steps—he’s surprised he didn’t fall down them when he jolted awake a moment ago. He’s got his elytra on, as if about to take flight. This would be right around when he joins his guards in pursuing Wemmbu, if he is somehow reliving everything that just happened. Then, and he hadn’t thought much of this then, his guards disappeared one by one.   

‘ You wonder where your guards are?’ , Clownpierce had asked him.   

Clown is pretty much at the root of every question Zam has right now. But Clown isn’t here, and his guards are, and yeah, that’s Wemmbu flying above him. He isn’t sure what to make of this. Should he do exactly what he did during… the dream, or whatever that was? Or should he diverge from what he is supposed to do, just to see if he can?  

Zam pulls out his trident and turns it over in his hands. He can see where his guards are chasing—or pointlessly trying to chase—Wemmbu, though he could just stay down here and try to watch for an explanation as to why his guards disappeared the first time he lived through this.  

Screw it. He has to see if everything will play out the same if he does everything the same. Maybe he isn’t the only one reliving all this—maybe all of them are. He won’t know unless he joins the pursuit.  

Since it’s raining, Zam pulls out his trident and launches himself up into the air—he doesn’t have enough rockets on him to comfortably follow Wemmbu for too long, so he’d better save them in case the rain stops.   

Once he catches up to his guards—most of them are there, so they haven’t disappeared yet—he catches Wemmbu’s voice. “—run out of rockets eventually and you guys will kill me, but… I mean, Egg’s long gone at this point.” For whatever reason, it’s a shock to hear him. Maybe because the last time Zam saw him, he’d had Wemmbu’s corpse in his arms. Zam still remembers the cool slickness of his skin from the rain that had been pouring down. He feels bile rise in his throat just thinking of it.  

If it had been a dream, he wouldn’t be able to remember that sensation so vividly. He would do anything to be able to forget it.  

Though Zam keeps up with Wemmbu and his guards, the taunts from one side to the other fade into background noise for him. He’s not sure what to think about it all, really.  

By the time he remembers that he had been supposed to keep an eye on his guards, figure out where they would disappear to if this would be like last time, he glances behind him and only a few remain. Flamefrags is among those who prevail—for now, at least.  

Chances are, Clown apprehended those guards, and he’ll take them to the prison thing he had arrived to take Zam and Wemmbu to.  

“You guys finally upset you got something destroyed instead of just destroying everything I have? You know how it feels now?” Wemmbu continues flying ahead of them as he yells behind him. Zam is pretty sure he heard Wemmbu say the exact same thing the first time he lived through this. “Is that why you’re just dead silent? Aside from Flame yapping occasionally?”  

Now, in a few moments, would be his cue to attempt to hit Wemmbu midair with his trident. He remembers an acute sense of indignant fury when he’d been chasing Wemmbu before, the first time, but any anger at the collapse of his empire has wanted into a dull buzz at the back of Zam’s mind. It’s not that he got over it, he’s just got more urgent matters on his mind.   

‘The lag won’t even let me hit you, this is so stupid’, is what Zam had said right around here the first time. He doesn’t try to hit Wemmbu this time around. He knows it would be futile. The lag will prevent anything from registering.  

Zam almost expects everything to stop, as though he’d forgotten his line in a play—everyone would stare at him, in anticipation, unable to continue until Zam has said his part. But no, they continue flying along.  

As the minutes tick on, this time, Zam notices the gradual absence of the remaining guards as they simply vanish into thin air. None of them are shot down from the sky. None of them are overtly taken by Clown. But soon enough, it is only Zam following Wemmbu, and it really does feel like history is repeating itself.  

Zam, unsure of whether he should stray from his script again, reverts to what he asked last time around this point: “Is your stupid machine ever gonna stop , or…?”  

“I mean, it’s fired one shot, they just take a while to load in, so…” Wemmbu glances behind him, and falters in flight for a moment, laughing. “What the hell—where’d all your guards go? It’s just you.”  

“It’s better without them. My hits can actually register now.”   

It feels like each of his actions are predetermined, like each word out of his mouth has been scripted by some higher power. But he isn’t sure whether he wants to unintentionally change something in the timeline—or whatever the hell he got himself into—or not. Of course, though, knowing what lies at the end of this path makes him wary to continue without at least attempting to alter something. If there is any way he can prevent Wemmbu’s death this time around, he’ll certainly jump at that opportunity.  

So when Wemmbu complains— “It’s really hard to hit you midair”—and descends so that they can fight on the ground, Zam hesitates. Maybe he can talk Wemmbu down from the edge. Aren't they on equal footing now, in a sense? Zam blew up Wemmbu’s empire, Wemmbu blew up Zam’s.  

Zam touches down on the ground but makes sure to keep distance between them. Unlike the first time they’d been here, Zam doesn’t immediately attack him. “Okay, wait, aren’t we even now? An empire for an empire?”  

For just a moment, Wemmbu stumbles in his step. He stops, sword raised warily as if he doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. “ What? You think we’re even? Zam, you brought this on yourself, when you decided to betray me.”  

“I thought you were going to betray me first!” Zam is yelling now. Probably not the best approach if he’s looking to appease Wemmbu here, but he has a right to be furious. His whole fucking empire has been blown up, just because Wemmbu couldn’t suck it up and leave when Zam had given him the chance.  

Wemmbu’s voice raises to match his. “Cut the bullshit, Zam! You instigated all of this, but now, you just don’t wanna deal with the consequences.” He swings his sword at Zam, who narrowly manages to block before his head is lopped off.  

They trade blows, and the fight begins to seem very similar to the one Zam had just lived through. Exhaustion begins to wear on him, as does the onslaught of rain, still pouring down as they battle.  

“For the record, Zam,” Wemmbu tells him fiercely, every word punctuated by a well-timed movement or blow. “We aren’t even. You had this coming. We won’t be even until you’re banned off the server.”  

Zam has given up trying to reason with him. Wemmbu is fighting to kill, and once again, Zam finds himself thinking that it’s either Wemmbu or him. Is there any way to deescalate this? Or maybe…  

Zam still has his trident, though its durability had decreased considerably from his prolonged use of it. He also still has a meager supply of firework rockets—sufficient to get him far enough that he can get away from this. Yeah, that’ll work, won’t it? He can fly away, save himself, and save Wemmbu from dying. Since Wemmbu wouldn’t have a reason to stay, he would be gone before Clownpierce would show up to bring him to the prison.  

Or would he stay, leaving this Wemmbu to go through the same thing Zam is right now?  

He can’t calculate that far in advance. He’ll just have to hope that Wemmbu has an ounce of sense and decides to leave—he wants to make sure Eggchan is okay, surely. Yeah. Yeah, Zam can bank on that. Wemmbu returned to get Egg back from Zam when he imprisoned Egg, so it only makes sense that they would regroup together.  

Zam blocks a hit from Wemmbu and pearls away, putting space in between them. He dons his elytra and takes flight by using a rocket—he has ten remaining, but that should be just fine.  

He is struck by a sudden sense of hope . He’s saved them both, hasn’t he?  

But once the empire has been out of his vision for a few moments, and the ocean beyond greets him with open arms, Zam gets the sensation of an arrow hitting him in between the eyes. He feels himself fall, and everything goes dark again.  

~ 𖤓 ~  

Once Zam jolts awake again, he’s acutely aware that he’s fucking screwed.

Chapter Text

Zam stands in the rain as it pelts down on him, getting the impression that his entire world is on the verge of collapse.

No, screw that, his entire world has collapsed. What, and he cannot stress this enough, the actual fuck is going on? 

He lets out a shuddering breath and holds a hand to his forehead, which should reasonably have an arrow-sized hole through it. Plainly, Zam should be dead, two times over. The arrow Clownpierce shot him with was real, and that is the cause of… he doesn’t even really know, what is this?

Okay, think. It isn’t a coincidence that he’s back here, again , for the third time. Those first two… variations —yes, that’s the word—of the same situation are connected. None of this has been a dream, though Zam certainly wishes it had been.

No, this all started with Clown . He knows this with absolute certainty. Zam got shot with that arrow, then felt the same sensation of being struck when he’d tried to fly away on his elytra. So, then, the assumption would be that this is some game of Clown’s.

‘I guess this will have to do instead’.

Clown’s final words to Zam reverberate inside his pounding head like voices in a tunnel. So, what is ‘this’? Will Zam have to experience the same conflict repeatedly until he makes the decisions that Clown wants him to? Or is this an indefinite experiment, and Zam has no way out? 

No, this isn’t indefinite. It can’t be. He can’t afford to think like that. He’s only gone through the whole thing twice, and he’s already figured out a substantial amount of what’s going on—he has all the time in the world to puzzle out his escape. 

So, then, what hasn’t worked?

Well, he definitely can’t run from this. If he travels a certain distance away, everything restarts. And, presumably, dying won’t work. Zam isn’t sure he wants to test that theory—if he dies in this thing, he has no clue what real-life ramifications that would have.

A good place to start would be keeping both him and Wemmbu alive. Wemmbu dying was pretty much part of what caused this in the first place—Clown only put Zam in this experiment because Wemmbu hadn’t been alive for whatever joys awaited him in the Clownpierce Prison Extravaganza TM . Therefore, Zam’s objectives would be one: save Wemmbu, and two: kill Clownpierce, probably . After all, going to Clown’s aforementioned prison likely wouldn’t be any better than the experiment Zam has found himself in currently.

Zam takes out his trident and pinpoints where all of his guards are pursuing Wemmbu. Yeah, actually, speaking of the guards, Zam isn’t sure whether or not he needs to save them , as well. Maybe if this plan doesn’t work out, he’ll tail one of his guards and figure out where it is they all keep vanishing off to. They are still his responsibility, even though his empire has technically collapsed.

He joins the chase, and that portion of this variation is almost entirely the same as the prior two. Zam makes an attempt to tune out the senseless taunting coming from all angles, but soon enough, there is no one left to ignore besides Wemmbu. And, regrettably, Zam actually has to pay attention to him. 

They end up touching down on the ground— again, for the third time, though Wemmbu doesn’t know it—to fight properly after Wemmbu complains about not being able to hit Zam midair.

Zam marvels at the fact that Wemmbu has never once hesitated—in three separate variations—when the opportunity arises to attack Zam instead of continuing to run. Wemmbu, even with all the chances of escape Zam has given him, will stop at nothing to eliminate his former ally (who did betray him, yes, but that’s besides the point).

At the force of Wemmbu’s initial blow, Zam practically loses his balance, stepping back and floundering for a moment. He makes the hasty decision to kick Wemmbu hard in the chest with his front leg, which had been in midair. Not a noble nor conventional move in any sort of duel, but then again, Zam is a king . He has made no claim to be virtuous, he has sworn no oath binding him to fight with any sort of honor, and besides, Wemmbu stopped playing fair the second he nuked Zam’s Empire.

Wemmbu breathes out a curse and stumbles, allowing Zam to reposition and ready himself to fight on the defensive. 

But when Wemmbu meets his gaze again, if there wasn’t murder in his eyes before, there certainly is now. “We’re fighting dirty now, huh?” He huffs out a humorless laugh, then comes at Zam, sword raised. Zam’s prepared for any blow, but instead—

Fuck. By the time Zam realizes that Wemmbu’s hooked a foot around his ankle and he’s going to literally sweep Zam off his feet, he is halfway to the ground. Even though he’s got armor on, the wind is knocked out of him from the thunderous impact. He’s sprawled on the ground in an instant, and Wemmbu gives him no chance to recover, one boot firmly pressing on Zam’s chest.

He very nearly gives in to the urge to dramatically ask, ‘Et tu, Wemmbu?’ because it would be more than a little ironic to quote Caesar considering the circumstances, but he doesn’t, because he’s too busy desperately trying to think up a way to save his own life.

Wemmbu is staring down at him with a gaze so thoroughly shadowed by his helmet’s visor that Zam can’t read his expression. For a few long moments, the only sound permeating the air is the repetitive thump of rain on armor and rock.

“How does it feel, Zam?” Wemmbu asks, his voice hardly audible over the downpour. 

“How does what feel?” To be entirely honest, he’s not sure why Wemmbu is hesitating. Not that he wants to die, of course, but it’s puzzling that someone so merciless has not yet taken the opportunity and killed his enemy.

“Getting crushed like the bug you are.” Wemmbu raises the sword in one hand, point down. 

Zam, for all of his false bravado, wants to cry. He isn’t sure if dying in this experiment means actually dying, and he really, really doesn’t want to risk it.

“ No , wait, I—”

His final plea cuts off into a choked gasp when he is stabbed in the neck. Before everything goes black, as Zam chokes on his own blood and manages to bring his shaking hand to the wound, he feels the sensation of an arrow hitting him square in the forehead.

~ 𖤓 ~

Zam desperately clutches at his neck, at a wound that is not there. His breathing is heavy and uneven, and he can’t believe he’s alive, and he can’t believe that Wemmbu hates him to that extent. He’s dead, he should be fucking dead, and he’s not. 

Bile rises in his throat, and he lurches to the staircase’s railing to vomit over the edge. 

Zam is sick to his stomach, and he’s drenched from the rain, and his head is spinning. Of course, he knew that Wemmbu would take any chance he could get to kill Zam. He knew that he wouldn’t be receiving an ounce of mercy from the man he betrayed and taunted to no end.

Evidently, that taunting is ingrained in Wemmbu’s head, if his final words to Zam were any indication. That had been Zam’s original intention in what appeared to be callous bullying—he’d been trying to ward Wemmbu off, make him see himself as inferior to Zam, so he would think that to retaliate against the betrayal would be to sign his own death warrant. Really, it had the opposite effect, had only made Wemmbu more spiteful.

Zam tries to regulate his breathing, tries to form a coherent thought. He isn’t sure what to do next. The prior variation’s ending had been due to a moment’s miscalculation on Zam’s part. Perhaps he could try to go into it with the same mindset again: that he needs to save Wemmbu and find, as well as likely kill, Clownpierce.

Honestly, he isn’t sure if Wemmbu wants to be saved. Zam might be trying to keep them both alive, but Wemmbu—if Zam’s brutal end was any indication—is aiming for a fight to the death. Namely, a fight to Zam’s death. Again.

Speaking of his death , he really doesn’t want to go through that again. What was likely only moments of earth-shattering pain had felt like hours of torture. Or perhaps it simply took a lot longer than Zam thought to die of a stab wound to the neck.

Nevertheless, he will do everything that he can to prevent another death on his part.

If he had more time, he could build a trap and lure Wemmbu in—something where it wouldn’t kill him, but it would incapacitate him long enough for Zam to either talk him out of his murderous rage or bait Clownpierce’s arrival.

However, he doesn’t have any preparation time. The experiment starts him off in the same place regardless of how the prior variation ended. Besides, Zam can’t even think of any sort of trap he could make, even if he had enough time. Maybe it’s just how disoriented he is, though. Fuck, dying takes a real toll on a person.

Anyway, Zam is going to do the next best thing he can think of—he’s going to replicate the original time he lived through this as closely as he can, up until when he kills Wemmbu. Zam knows that there’s a chance he can get Wemmbu to yield once they’re both low on materials and stamina—he can still remember the way Wemmbu had cried out for him to ‘wait’ before Zam struck the killing blow.

That is what drives him forward, up on his elytra to follow Wemmbu along with all his guards.

That is what drives him to land on the ground in front of Wemmbu to fight the same battle for the fourth time. By now, Zam has sobered up from the residual effects of dying, and he knows how vital it is that he win this fight. He fights with desperation that mirrors Wemmbu’s, but by now, he has nearly memorized how his opponent will react to each of his attacks. That certainly makes it easier for Zam to counter Wemmbu, and easier still for Zam to tire him out.

By the time that the fight has made its way into the hole where Zam had originally killed Wemmbu, the exertion of the struggle is wearing on them both, and the force behind their movements has decreased significantly. The only things keeping Zam standing are adrenaline and the desperation of a man who has lived through the same intense battle multiple grueling times. He just wants to go to fucking sleep, or something. But he can’t. He can’t. 

Wemmbu isn’t one to back down. His eyes are wild and half his armor is broken—Zam’s own armor isn’t any better off—but he fights with the same reckless intensity as ever. 

Zam corners Wemmbu and gets him stuck in a cobwebs—after only a few well-timed hits, Wemmbu’s totem pops. Just like it had in that first fight. 

“Okay, I don’t want to kill you. You know that.” Zam keeps his sword raised, but places more webs when Wemmbu breaks the ones he’d trapped himself in. “ Wemmbu, we can end this right now. Killing me will solve nothing.” Actually, he isn’t sure about that one—maybe the Wemmbu that killed him in the prior variation lived on to become the strongest player on the server. Maybe he retired in a cottage in the woods with Eggchan, content to never worry about war ever again. Zam will never know, unfortunately, because in that universe, he’s dead.

Wemmbu breaks the webs again. Zam places more. It is close to an exact replica of the original time he fought this battle. He keeps trying to get himself free, but he is making no move to attack Zam for the time being.

“Leaving you alive won’t solve anything, either,” Wemmbu counters.

Zam doesn’t have a good response to that. From Wemmbu’s end, he’s completely right. What reason does he have to leave his enemy, the guy who betrayed him and took advantage of his friendship, alive? It would be much more therapeutic to, apparently, stab him in the fucking neck. For some reason.

Zam sighs, then wipes sweat and rain off his forehead. Perhaps it’s the exhaustion, perhaps it’s the effects of having lived through the same battle time after time, but he decides to humble himself. In no other circumstance would he ever admit to any fault. But, alas, he starts, “Listen, I’m sorry, okay? Betraying you was a shitty thing to do. I shouldn’t have—” He makes a vague gesture. Apologizing is hard, especially when he only halfway means it. “—I mean, you get why I did it, but—”

“No, Zam, I don’t get why you did it!” Wemmbu visibly tightens his grip on his sword, knuckles white with tension. “I was nothing but loyal to you, bro , I was never going to betray you!” He swings again, with renewed strength. 

Zam very nearly topples over from the exertion of trying to block the blow. “I didn’t know that!” He yells back incredulously. Momentarily, he forgets that his aim had been to alleviate the conflict and keep both of them alive. “I couldn’t take any chances, especially not with you.”

“ Especially not with me?” Wemmbu fumbles for a moment, failing to block a particularly vicious 

hit from Zam. “I thought you didn’t feel threatened by me.” His voice is so mocking that it is practically scathing. He spits every word out vehemently. “What, are you so paranoid that you have to betray a ‘ pathetic bug’? ”

Not for the first time, Zam is struck by how deep he had cut Wemmbu with all of his mockery. He hates to admit it, but Wemmbu has always seemed… unshakeable to him. An unstoppable force, cutting down every obstacle in his path with ruthless efficiency. 

But, somehow, it had been impossibly easy to get into Wemmbu’s head.

“You know I didn’t mean any of that shit,” Zam protests, backtracking in both the literal and metaphorical sense. He makes an attempt to put a little space in between them, but Wemmbu only advances further, sword raised. “I didn’t betray you because you were weak, Wemmbu, I betrayed you because I was scared of what you would do once we weren’t on the same side!” 

“... What ?” Wemmbu lowers his sword hesitantly. For the first time in this variation of the fight, he appears to be caught off guard. “Why did you assume we had to be on different sides?”

The question makes Zam feel like a total asshole. When they’d been allies, he had eventually given in to his paranoia and speculated, as he feverishly paced the halls of his castle, that Wemmbu’s betrayal was inevitable. That he would go whichever way the wind blew, that he would take the path that benefitted him the most. Apparently—and this much had been proven when Wemmbu hadn’t even looked inside the fake vault Zam had made him guard until it was impossible to deny Zam’s betrayal—Wemmbu had never even considered the possibility of turning on him.

‘Why did you assume we had to be on different sides?’

He stands there dumbly, with his mouth hanging slightly open, rain dripping down his face because the visor of his helmet doesn’t do shit. Wemmbu stares back at him with a level gaze, but there is something like hurt in his eyes that Zam doesn’t expect. Again, he is shocked at the fact that Wemmbu isn’t unflappable, that he is capable of feeling upset at Zam’s disloyalty. Of course, he has seen Wemmbu’s anger following the betrayal—Wemmbu’s constant attempts at retribution have been proof enough that Zam is nowhere near forgiven—but this is something else entirely.

Zam realizes that Wemmbu is expecting an answer from him. He closes his mouth and glances away, trying to regain some sense of composure. He manages, “I thought I had you figured out.” There’s more to it than that, but this is as much of a response as he can muster, having been rendered speechless by Wemmbu’s borderline- naive question.

Cutting through his thoughts, a familiar voice that Zam has not heard since that very first variation makes him tense up and raise his sword again. “ Boo, boring!” Zam whips around and prepares himself to jump at Clownpierce. He doubts that he stands a fighting chance, but he’s getting a little tired of the repetition of it all. He might as well at least try to fight this.

Before he can make any movement whatsoever, Clown pulls out his bow—the one that started this all—and nocks an arrow with unnatural speed. Zam’s breath catches in his throat. “Don’t move, Zam. Because I’ll shoot you, and you’ll end up right at the beginning of all this again.”

So this Clown is the same one who shot him the first time. That makes sense, because it’s Clown’s experiment in the first place, but it’s still a little unsettling that the whole resetting thing doesn’t apply to him. That the only person aware of Zam’s current situation is the very person who put him in it.

“Why bother showing up?” Zam asks cautiously, lowering his sword. If Clown’s goal was to keep him in this loop for an indefinite period of time, why would he mysteriously make an appearance and give Zam the chance to kill him?

Clown grins, and he looks every bit his namesake. “I’m here to help you.”

Chapter Text

If Zam had an ounce less of restraint, he would have asked, ‘Fuck you mean you’re here to help me?’. After all, Clownpierce is the reason he’s in this mess in the first place. But, then again, he’ll take all the assistance he can get, and the only person who can give it is standing at the base of the hole with a smug grin on his face.

“Help me?” Zam echoes warily. He can’t help his paranoia—being a king tends to make one assume that the worst-case scenario will always happen.

“Help him?” Wemmbu asks from behind Zam, startling him. He’d almost forgotten Wemmbu was there, even though they’d just been dueling a few moments ago. Of course, in true annoying gnat fashion, Wemmbu has to jump in and make this about him—he probably assumes that Clown is going to join Zam’s side and clobber Wemmbu. In reality, Zam is questioning the credibility of possible advice from his captor-slash-possible-savior. “Hey, that’s not fai—”

Wemmbu’s protest is cut off into a short-lived yelp as an arrow flies through the air, and Zam turns his head just in time to see the point embedded in his forehead. For the second time during this variation, Zam fights the urge to throw up. The sight is not, by any means, a pleasant one—Wemmbu’s eyes are glassy and unseeing, and he is crumpled up in a heap on the ground. Zam attempts to avert his gaze from Wemmbu’s forehead, more specifically, the arrow sticking out of it. He wonders if this is how Zam looked when Clown originally shot him in the head to begin the experiment. "Bullseye," Clown announces from the entrance of the crater, which makes Zam whip around and stare at him, wide-eyed. He just fucking killed Wemmbu, and that’s the comment he wants to make on the matter? Sure, Zam isn’t some saint, he’s got blood on his hands—most of it indirectly, because why deal with the guilt of killing someone when your guards can do it for you—but still. “What? No need to get so worked up, he’ll come back in the next loop.”

“But you just killed him, for no reason—”

Clown scoffs. “So did you. Look, do you want my help or not?”

Right, right. He has to play nice for now, if he wants any sort of direction as to how to escape this experiment. Even if that direction is coming from the guy who put him in said experiment. He’ll have to take anything Clown says with a grain of salt. “Yeah.”

“Exactly.” Clown clears his throat and puts his bow away. Apparently, he feels so secure in his position, so certain that Zam won’t just try to kill him, that he doesn’t need a weapon out. Maybe it’s simply the feeling of not being in control, but Zam is made both furious and rather uneasy by the whole situation. “I realize that this whole thing is… a little unfair.” He makes a vague gesture. That’s certainly the understatement of the century. “And I want to keep this entertaining so I don’t have to kill you. So—” Clown moves past his unveiled threat with grace and Zam decides not to question him on it out of fear for his life. “—I’ll level the playing field a little.”

He pauses dramatically, as if he’s some overblown narrator in a stageplay. 

“This is the part where you thank me.”

Zam fights the urge to roll his eyes. In no usual circumstance would he humor Clown’s request, but he’s inching towards desperation. “Thank you, Clownpierce.”

“You’re welcome!” He smiles. It takes a massive amount of restraint for Zam to keep his sword down and not slice that smug grin off his face. “To win my game, all you have to do is employ the help of your good pal Wemmbu, and kill me.”

So, in short, Zam didn’t even fucking need Clown’s help in the first place, because he was already going to do something like that anyway. Now, the only advancement here is that he has Clown’s permission. Which he didn’t need in the first place. Which, now that Zam thinks of it, is pretty weird—what kind of psycho goes around challenging people to kill him?

Instead of voicing any of this, he goes for a more logical question. “But if killing you ends the experiment, wouldn’t you stay dead?”

“Don’t get too excited.” Clown fiddles with an arrow idly. Speaking of which, whatever the difference is between the arrow that put Zam into the loop and the arrow that just killed Wemmbu, Zam has no idea. He isn’t inclined to ask. “You can’t get rid of me that easily. Any more questions?”

Zam could certainly ask after Clown’s motivations—why he would do any of this in the first place, why he is “helping” Zam to win, any of it—but he would much prefer not to aggravate his current captor. Zam has no clue what Clown can do to him in here, wherever and whenever here is, but he doesn’t want to put his life on the line for something so trivial as asking ‘why’.

“Not really.”

“Cool, cool. Well, have fun.” Okay, wait, how the hell did he pull out the bow so quickly—

~ 𖤓 ~

Zam sighs and rubs his forehead. The constant migraine certainly isn’t the worst part of the experiment, but it’s rather annoying; he really wishes that Clown would drop the theatrics with the whole archery thing and find a less painful way to reset the cycle. That’s the least he could do, especially because Clown’s idea of “help” actually hadn’t been help in any sense of the word.

He had been doing so well in the last variation, too! He’d gotten through to Wemmbu (kind of) and gained something like a ceasefire, even if it had only been temporary. Didn’t that count for something?

Well, not really. It was funny to think that if Zam ever found his way out of this, no one except Clownpierce would have half a clue how hard Zam fought to escape.

Wait, wait, unless… perhaps he’s simply lost half of his capacity for thought after the repetition of the same grueling battle, but what if he told Wemmbu about the experiment? The hardest part would be getting him to believe Zam, because without concrete evidence, the whole thing would seem like an elaborate ploy to get out of fighting Wemmbu without surrendering.

Okay, think. Is there anything Zam has learned in these variations that he wouldn’t know otherwise?

He stands in the rain and watches as his guards chase after Wemmbu in vain. With all the insanity of trying to escape the experiment, Zam had completely forgotten that he’d told himself he would try to save his guards if the next few variations went awry. How many times ago was that? Everything is beginning to blend together in his head.

Anyway, he’ll figure out how to convince Wemmbu if he actually gets there. For the fifth (sixth? seventh?) time, Zam joins the pursuit and follows Wemmbu even as his guards disappear one by one. He cannot save them for now, not if he wants to escape this experiment alive. No, apparently, Clownpierce has gotten bored of life as an assassin and wants a fight to the death with Zam and Wemmbu. Because, of course, that is a very normal thing to do when bored and uncertain of what to do with your life.

Zam feels like he’s on autopilot until the actual fight begins—both him and Wemmbu land on the muddy ground, amidst Zam’s crumbling empire. Though adrenaline courses through Zam’s veins, there is a sort of mental exhaustion at play that is only getting harder to ignore. He shoves it back, forces himself to focus on the task at hand.

Tire Wemmbu out, get to the part of the fight when they’re in the hole, tell him about the experiment and risk seeming insane, because if it doesn’t work, it’s not like Wemmbu will remember any of it anyway. Then, kill Clown when he appears. Easy, in theory. Much tougher in practice. If getting Wemmbu on his side isn’t going to be hard enough already, he has to fight the strongest player on the server right after fighting Wemmbu. His work may be cut out for him.

Within only a few moments of a lapse in focus, Zam slips in a puddle—what the fuck, why does the ground have to be so wet—and, needless to say, knows he’s about to die by Wemmbu’s hand for the second time. 

Wemmbu wastes no time—but he mercifully doesn’t stab Zam in the throat again. It is a quick death, an immense pain in his chest for only a moment. The worst part is the sensation of getting shot point-blank in the forehead.

~ 𖤓 ~

Zam presses his eyes shut as soon as everything restarts. Alright. Alright, he just has to convince Wemmbu he’s in a time loop. He can’t screw up like that again, that’s for sure. He is almost seething, he’s so frustrated with himself for tripping and costing himself precious progress in the fight.

Nevertheless, after doing the same thing for a sixth time, he finally reaches the point he screwed up at during the last variation. Zam combats Wemmbu’s aggression with movements that are so practiced they almost feel choreographed. He clenches his jaw and remains intent on fighting to get his opponent to surrender. Even though, of course, Wemmbu desperately wants him dead. Hard to miss that detail. If Zam thinks about it too hard, he can almost feel the sword cutting into his throat, the copper tang of his own blood as he choked on it. He can feel the blade for a split second as it punctures his heart.

Zam full-on misses his next swing, hung up on the trauma of his own death—well, actually deaths.

“You’re getting sloppy, Zam,” Wemmbu taunts, an arrogant grin curving his lips upward. Zam clenches his jaw so hard that he’s pretty sure he draws blood. He has no idea how much Zam has been through. Not in the slightest.

But he remains calm, as calm as he can in such an intense duel, so that he doesn’t go ballistic on Wemmbu and screw up any chance Zam has of getting him on his side. Soon enough, once both of them start periodically running away to regain health or restock materials, they end up in the hole. It’s ironic, really, how an insignificant crater created by Wemmbu’s explosions could be so vital to the… what, the timeline? Whatever it is. Zam hardly has any fucking clue what’s going on. He’s just trying to win.

It happens as it always does. Wemmbu gets stuck in the cobwebs and continuously tries to break them, leading Zam to replace them throughout the conversation.

“Stop doing that,” he snaps. “I don’t want to have to kill you, so listen up.”

“As if you could kill me.” Wemmbu snorts, but his glare does not soften even slightly. His guard is up, and if Zam gives the slightest indication that he’ll try to kill Wemmbu, this will return to a fight to the death.

So Zam has to play this a certain way. He pauses to consider his words before continuing his prior thought, ignoring Wemmbu’s jibe. “You won’t believe me at first, because this sounds insane. But hear me out.” He lets out a slow breath. “I’ve had to live through this exact same fight five separate times. Depending on what I do, it ends differently—”

“Huh?”

He tries not to be irritated. It is a hard concept to grasp, even for Zam himself. “It’s like…” He tilts his head. Wait, what movie is it again? He’s never seen it. “Groundhog Day. I think.”

Wemmbu raises an eyebrow, but he’s clearly trying not to laugh. “Really? Tell me something that only future me would know.”

“What the hell is that supposed to prove? You’ll think I’m lying anyway,” Zam points out, exasperated. Regardless, he continues, “You’ll believe me in a few minutes, when Clownpierce shows up to kill us. Thing is, to get me out of the experiment, we have to kill him first.”

“You aren’t making any fucking sense, man.” He pauses, narrows his eyes slightly as if trying to deduce something. “...are you high?”

Zam throws his hands up in the air. Did he explain the whole thing horribly, or is Wemmbu just being intentionally dense? Fuck does he mean, ‘are you high’? Zam wishes he was high, because that would be eternally better than the whole experiment thing! Well, whatever, it’s not like he can say he didn’t try. “I—no, bro, just wait. Clown’s gonna show up.”

Wemmbu obliges, but he fidgets restlessly and twirls his sword like a baton. Zam, for once, can’t chide him for it, because he can’t stand still either. He jumps at every noise, sword raised—it’s usually the rain picking up, or distant explosions because apparently Wemmbu has an inexhaustible amount of nukes, all aimed at Zam’s empire. With an unspoken truce forged for the time being, the two of them wait for Clown for what feels like hours (It probably isn’t more than twenty minutes; Zam’s sense of time is screwed up anyway, because of the whole time loop thing). 

“He should be here by now,” Zam mutters under his breath, mostly to himself, as he paces the length of the crater. “Why isn’t he here?”

Wemmbu clears his throat. When he speaks, his brows are knitted together. He almost looks concerned, but that’s not right. Maybe Zam really is going insane. “Listen, Zam, I… I believe you. I really do. But—”

He whips around, pointing at him accusingly with a trembling hand. “No the fuck you don’t. Don’t lie to me, Wemmbu.” Zam continues walking back and forth, his heavy steps wearing lines into the dirt. His paranoid nature has returned in full force, catalyzed by the mysterious absence of Clownpierce. What could he have possibly done wrong? Surely, this is some sort of set-up on Clown’s part—but why? Doesn’t he want a fair fight to the death? He can’t have a fight to the death if he isn’t here in the first place. 

Whatever happened, it isn’t fair. Zam did everything right. For once, he did everything right.

“Well, honestly, no, but like…” Wemmbu sucks in a breath. Lets it out in a nervous laugh Zam can hardly hear over the rain. Zam wishes the rain would stop. It’s so loud. Everything is too loud. “Are you good, bro? Genuinely?”

“I’m fine, yeah.” His response feels automatic, and it likely isn’t convincing in the least. Zam has his free hand pressed to his forehead, and his gaze won’t stay focused on one thing, and he’s probably psychotic or something at this point.

A firm, albeit hesitant, hand grabs Zam’s arm. He tenses and raises his sword aloft out of instinct, only to meet Wemmbu’s wide eyes. “Holy shit, chill. Just—”  Wemmbu closes his mouth and visibly swallows. Oddly enough, Zam is pretty sure it’s the most scared he has ever seen Wemmbu—besides maybe the end of the first variation, right before Zam ended his life. The thought sobers him up slightly. What about this is so jarring that Wemmbu actually looks scared for his life?

He pulls out of Wemmbu’s grip. “What?”

“Um… never mind.” Wemmbu lifts his sword as though readying himself to fight on the defensive—for the first time Zam has seen, his hands shake, uncertainty written all over his expression. 

But neither of them attacks the other. There is a few measly feet of distance between them—it wouldn’t be hard to get a critical hit in from either side. 

“You still want me dead?” Zam asks flatly after a few moments, but he doesn’t back off.

Wemmbu blinks at him, brows furrowed. Rather than answering, he fires back with a question of his own. “You still willing to let me go?” It is much more vulnerable than whatever Zam expected to hear. He’s accepting defeat, isn’t he? He’s giving up a chance to kill Zam at his worst—exhausted and paranoid beyond belief—at least, that’s what it appears to be on the surface. This could very well be a ploy to get Zam off his guard, and then Wemmbu will stab him in the neck a second time.

Zam wants to say ‘yes’ without hesitation. He really doesn’t want to kill Wemmbu, at least not this Wemmbu. Even with Zam’s betrayal in the first place, with the constant fighting between them, he had never intended to kill Wemmbu. He isn’t completely sure what it is that has held him back—maybe it’s nostalgia, the memory of how much fun they’d had together back when they were allied. Maybe it’s his moral compass: dwindling, yet still faintly there.

But if he lets Wemmbu go, there is no chance of him escaping the experiment in this variation. Clownpierce made it clear as day that he wants Zam and Wemmbu to fight him together, and if they emerge victorious, then Zam also wins this twisted game he’s found himself in.

He can’t win in this variation, anyway, Zam decides. Clown isn’t even here.

“Yeah.” He nods, gaze elsewhere, on the wall behind Wemmbu. “I never wanted to kill you, you know. I still don’t.”

“You’ll never have to worry about me again,” Wemmbu promises—he isn’t even aware that what he’s saying isn’t true. Zam will have to worry about him again, in the next variation. He backs away, as though he is facing a rabid animal rather than a perfectly sane man. “Uh—” Wemmbu offers a half-smile, and to his credit, it actually looks genuine. “Thank you, Zam.”

“For what?”

“Well, you were my first real friend on the server, so…” He shrugs, apparently deciding against explaining further. “Yeah. I’m gonna go, before you change your mind. Oh, and good luck with the, uh…” He pearls up to the entrance of the crater. “Time loop.” Clearly, by how skeptical he sounds, he doesn’t believe any of it. Before Zam can reply, Wemmbu is gone without a trace.

After all this time, Wemmbu had called him a ‘friend’. Zam stands there in the rain for a few more minutes, weighed down by his soaked-through clothes, exposed to the rain by his broken armor.

Should he just… wait for this variation to end? He had assumed that once Wemmbu left, he would get shot by an arrow or something. But no, he ends up pulling himself up out of the hole, uncertain of what happens next but too impatient to simply stand there.

For the first time in a while, Zam gazes up at the skyline of his once-great empire. His life’s work. His reason to continue onward. All of it has been reduced to rubble within only a few hours. It’s almost poetic, really—he had flown too close to the sun, thus his empire had burned.

He walks through the desolate cobblestone streets, passing the houses of his former subjects. Should he explore the wreckage of some buildings, he is certain he would find corpses of many he once held dear. Many he once swore to protect.

It strikes him suddenly that he is no longer a king. Perhaps he never was, in the true sense of the term. He couldn’t protect the only things that really mattered to him, in the end.

The best view of the empire has always been from the highest turret of the palace—only part of it is still standing. On his worst days, he used to come up here so he could think without anyone bothering him. Zam trudges up the winding stairs now as the downpour continues to beat down on him. He halts where the stairs end—it is truly a miracle that this much of the tower has survived in the first place. 

The sun is setting over the PrinceZam empire, the sky colored in muted hues of pink and orange, the surrounding ocean tinted to match. Zam can almost imagine the towering buildings and bustling activity that the empire once possessed as he gazes at the debris below him. He can almost imagine his guards behind him, prepared to defend him with their lives.

He has failed. He knows little else, as he watches the sun dip below the horizon, but he knows with utmost certainty that this destruction rests on his shoulders.

Zam steps forward. As he falls, he can almost convince himself that his empire is whole, and a sense of peace envelops him.

~ 𖤓 ~

Chapter Text

As soon as Zam had felt the impact of hitting the ground, he wakes up at the beginning again.

What had driven him to follow through with jumping off, he isn’t completely sure. There is a faint buzzing in his skull, and the migraine has returned in full force, but other than that, all Zam can feel is an acute numbness. The sensation of rain battering his armor is the only thing keeping him grounded in the moment.

That’s partially why he doesn’t even know Clownpierce is behind him until he hears, “Hello again, Zam.” 

“Oh, fuck off.” He’s not in the mood for more of Clown’s “help”. If Zam had to guess what he would say this time, it would probably be: ‘maybe don’t jump off a tower if you want to escape’! Well, guess what, Zam hadn’t been trying to escape. He’d made an educated guess that it would reset the loop, and it hadn’t felt like there was any other way out, in the moment.

Clown is silent for a moment, and when Zam glances at him briefly, his face is impassive. “Are you going to ask why I didn’t show up to fight you?”

He answers the question instead. “It was too easy. I had it figured out.” Zam scoffs. At this point, he doesn’t see any reason to hold back and play nice with Clown. What can he even do to Zam, anyway, that will incentivize him to escape the “right way”? “You just want me to suffer.”

“Good guess. But that’s not it.” The only sound for is the downpour, an incessant tapping of raindrops that Zam has had to put up with for too many variations of the exact same series of events. Has he even had a second of true silence in all this time? Maybe that’s why he’s going insane. Then Clown adds, “Honestly, I realized that I went about this the wrong way.”

Zam is so tired. He doesn’t know what the hell that’s supposed to mean. “Yeah? Are you gonna let me go?” Even though it would be a fair assumption that he asks this question out of hope, really, he’s resigned to this whole thing. Zam could go through the motions for another loop or two, but he might as well just wait it out until Clown gets bored. Clown might kill him, but Zam’s already in his own personal hell anyway, so he doesn’t think it can get much worse than this.

“What if I told you I’m giving you a chance to forget it all?”

What the hell? Is he joking?

“What’s the catch?” There’s always a catch. Clownpierce hasn’t gotten his entertainment, apparently, and so he’s going to change something up. Maybe he’ll screw with Zam’s memories and make him do all of this again. 

“No catch. For you, at least.”

He doesn’t want to know what Clown means by that last sentence—truthfully, he doesn’t care. Zam does want to forget it all. Desperately. But, somewhere in his apathy, lurks the faintest amount of logic. That is what prevails when he asks, “So, what are you playing at? Why give up now?”

“I’m not giving up anything. I’m just doing what I should have done from the beginning.” Clown tilts his head upwards, and Zam follows his gaze to spot Wemmbu, tailed by about a quarter of Zam’s royal guard. Apparently, it’s the incompetent quarter, because in however many variations, they have never caught Wemmbu. Whatever. Zam couldn’t care less—if Clownpierce is telling the truth, he won’t remember any of this soon enough. “You know, Zam, there’s just one thing I don’t understand.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be all-knowing?”

Clown ignores the—admittedly halfhearted—jeer. “It might be ill-timed, but humor me here. You knew from your second loop that flying or running away a certain distance would reset the cycle. So why would you resort to such a… drastic method?”

“I had nothing left to lose.”

After a moment, Clown nods thoughtfully. “Yeah. That’s what I thought you’d say.” He sighs, and it is a sound of pure exhaustion. Zam isn’t sure what right he has to sigh like that—this is Clown’s experiment in the first place. He should be ecstatic. “I knew I should have done it with Wemmbu instead. He isn’t the type to give up easily.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Zam mutters, ignoring the veiled insult in the words. If there’s one thing he has learned throughout this whole experiment, it is that Wemmbu is unpredictable, and that once he sets his sights on something, he sees it through to the end. 

Whereas, much of the time, Zam ends up running away or quitting halfway through when something isn’t straightforward in nature. Perhaps that was part of the reason he betrayed Wemmbu in the first place, now that he’s thinking of it.

“This has been… productive. Thanks, Zam. You’ve been quite the test subject.”

It seems apparent that, with the knowledge of Zam’s encounters, Clown will now pass the torch to Wemmbu as the next experimentee. In different circumstances, he might have pestered Clown with more questions or tried to save Wemmbu somehow, but he doesn’t have the energy to care too much. Zam simply wants to be rid of this depraved game that has taken such an immense toll on his mental wellbeing, that has mercilessly taken him from rock bottom to the seventh circle of hell. He would rather remain completely oblivious to the experiment, be some sort of pawn in the game, than participate in it and sacrifice the last dregs of his sanity.

Zam nods. “Just… get on with it.”

He closes his eyes, if only for a false sense of comfort. For what he hopes is the last time, Zam is struck in the head with an arrow.

~  ⏾  ~

Wemmbu is going to fucking kill him, by any means necessary.

The betrayal had cut deeper than any blade could. The worst part is that he should have seen it coming—of course Zam would preemptively turn on him. How could he be so stupid as to assume their alliance would last? Wemmbu was only worth something to Zam when their interests had aligned, and Zam had assumed Wemmbu thought the same way.

‘My sweet, sweet Wemmbu.’

Just the memory of Zam’s grating voice, that condescending tone, gives him enough hate-fueled force to fake Zam out, then land a hard slash to his chest. To Wemmbu’s satisfaction, Zam’s eyes go wide with disbelief as he loses his balance, stumbling clumsily, which is very unlike him. Before he can get past the momentary high of almost bringing Zam down, he is unexpectedly kicked in the abdomen with enough force to send him pitching backwards. He huffs out a curse.

How fucking dare he.

Were Wemmbu not looking for another reason to be pissed at Zam, it would have seemed like nothing but a hasty decision made in the name of self-preservation. But, through Wemmbu’s fury-tinted vision, the undertone behind that action was a haughty one.

It’s as though he was indirectly telling Wemmbu that he isn’t worth a fair fight. That Zam is still so much better, and even though he no longer has an empire, he’s still more important than Wemmbu.

“We’re fighting dirty now, huh?” He lets out a humorless laugh, bordering on manic. Before he can form a coherent thought, he’s already moving. Zam is evidently bracing to defend against a swing from Wemmbu’s sword, which presents the perfect opportunity to catch him off guard.

At the last second, instead of going for a stab, Wemmbu hitches a foot around Zam’s ankle and forces him to lose his footing. For good measure, Wemmbu shoves him to hasten his descent to the ground, then pins him to the ground with a booted foot.

He tries not to savor the unrestrained fear on Zam’s face, but this is the moment Wemmbu has been dreaming of ever since the betrayal. Ever since Wemmbu’s faux-empire was blown up by the very person who commissioned him to start it. Ever since Zam sent Flame to kill him, then called it off because Wemmbu was ‘too weak’. But now, now the tables have turned. 

Zam is at Wemmbu’s mercy, finally. He deserves to learn how it feels to be powerless. And then, he deserves a slow, painful death, for the needless psychological warfare and betrayal. For every time he called Wemmbu ‘useless’, and ‘weak’, and ‘nothing’. 

‘You’re not a threat’, Zam had told Wemmbu, refusing to kill him. It would have been better if he had killed Wemmbu, or chunkbanned him, or something. Because, at least, then it would have been apparent that he’d taken Wemmbu seriously in the first place.

But, no, Wemmbu had been forced to watch as everything that remained of the settlement he’d built had been blown up by Zam’s guards. He’d had to endure countless taunts and insults, he’d been humiliated, made to look like a fool. Wemmbu hadn’t cried in front of Zam, hadn’t wanted to give him another reason to call him weak. He’d stood his ground.

Wemmbu shivers in the freezing torrent of rain and stares down at Zam. At the man who made his life a living hell, and then laughed about it. He still remembers that laugh, as he forced Wemmbu to watch as everything he’d built had been blown up. Now, the roles were reversed. An empire for an empire.

“How does it feel, Zam?” He wants one final opportunity to gloat. To look Zam in the eye and say, ‘I won’.

Zam’s response sounds resigned. “How does what feel?” That, in and of itself, makes Wemmbu’s blood boil. Still, Zam refuses to humble himself, or beg for his life, or anything besides lay there with those wide, frightened eyes. 

“Getting crushed like the bug you are.” This should be some climactic moment, some pinnacle in his journey for vengeance, but he doesn’t dwell on how inconsequential this moment seems. He doesn’t allow himself to feel any sort of cognitive dissonance, because this situation shouldn’t warrant that. Wemmbu wills himself to grip the sword tightly—point down, so he can finally stab Zam—and forces his hands still.

Finally, once the blade is mere inches from his throat, Zam cries out, “No, wait, I—”

Too late, Zam. Wemmbu stabs him right in the neck, so that his words cut off into a strangled gasp for air. So that Zam doesn’t get the satisfaction of a final wish, his story indelibly cut short by Wemmbu’s blade.

He swallows any sympathy he feels at seeing Zam’s eyes turn glassy with unshed tears—or maybe it’s just the rain. Regardless, Zam deserves this. In fact, he deserves worse. This is a mercy. Wemmbu would love nothing more than to cut off all his fingers one by one, and then cut out his tongue so he could never utter an insult against Wemmbu again—but he won’t. He is capable of mercy in some capacity.

Wemmbu pulls the blade out of Zam’s throat, producing a wet squelching sound. As Zam hauls a trembling hand to the wound, he brings the sword back down, and Wemmbu’s nemesis breathes his last. It isn’t nearly as fulfilling as he had hoped it would be.

“You’re nothing,” Wemmbu mutters as he wrenches the sword out of Zam’s throat with a quivering hand, inadvertently spraying blood on himself, and even he isn’t sure who he’s speaking to. Who he’s trying to convince. There is no audience, no one watching, so why does it still feel like he must prove himself? “Nothing.”

He closes his eyes, and as he stands over the unmoving corpse, Wemmbu can still discern the sounds of distant explosions around the empire. The downpour hammers at what remains of his armor like another barrage of attacks, even though he has defeated Zam.

With his eyes closed, it is impossible to ignore how the water clinging to his exposed skin feels eerily similar to blood. He can almost imagine that it is him laying there lifeless, rather than Zam. 

“Hello, Wemmbu.”

The voice startles him into action, eyes open, blood-spattered sword raised. At first he assumes that he actually didn’t kill Zam, and he’ll be standing there, open gash in his neck, sword back his hand. “What-the-fuck-I-thought-I-killed—” Wait. That is not Zam. He breathes out a sigh of relief. “Clownpierce?”

And there he is, in all his harlequin-esque glory, though he wears it more like a king than a court jester. Wemmbu thinks of Zam and Clown in a similar light, and perhaps part of it is due to the self-assured way both carry themselves. They are, by all accounts, two of the most dangerous players on the server, though one of them is overtly an assassin and the other is quite literally the devil in disguise. 

Was.

Was the devil in disguise. Before Wemmbu sent him back to whatever circle of hell he came from.

Clownpierce whistles as he takes a step towards the body, observing it with all the fascination of a mad scientist marveling at his greatest work. “Well, you don’t see that every day.” He kicks the body. Wemmbu flinches backwards instinctually.

“Uh—aren’t you and Zam, like, allied?” He asks it hesitantly. If they are—fuck, were—still business partners or something, Clownpierce undoubtably would want revenge. But usually, if one of your allies drops dead, you don’t… kick the body. Whatever. Wemmbu doesn’t have the right to judge.

Clown pulls his gaze from the corpse, meeting Wemmbu’s eyes with a piercing stare. It almost looks like he’s holding back a laugh. “Not quite.”

“What, because he’s dead, or…?”

That actually gets a snicker out of Clown. He glances back at the body. “No. You wanna find out why?”

The hell is that supposed to mean? “...Yeah?”

Wrong answer, apparently. Clownpierce whips out a bow and just as Wemmbu gathers the sense to try to block the arrow with his shield, he gets shot point-blank in the fucking forehead.

~  ⏾  ~

As if awakening from a nightmare, Wemmbu gasps as his eyes blink open of their own volition. One hand flies to his forehead. His… unblemished forehead, okay, what? Where’s the hole from the arrow? Where’s the blood, spurting from the wound just as it had on Zam’s neck?

“Wemmbu?” 

Zam sounds puzzled, his sword is raised defensively, and worst of all, he’s alive. Wemmbu blinks rain out of his eyes—he can’t be imagining this, can he? Is he schizophrenic? Did killing Zam affect him so heavily that Wemmbu is hallucinating him?—but nothing changes. Possibly, Wemmbu really did just die, and this is hell. Or purgatory, and he needs to fight Zam one last time to… get to hell, okay wait, that’s not how that works.

“Are we… still fighting, or what? You good to stop?”

No, Wemmbu isn’t ‘good to stop’! He wants to repeatedly stab Zam in the neck until his sword is doused in ichor (As loathe as he is to admit it, Wemmbu idolizes Zam as one would a figure in mythology. Perhaps that is why he is so disconcerted by the betrayal, even after the time that has passed). He wants to drill a hole in Zam’s head with an arrow, if only to confirm that this is real and Zam is alive.

Wemmbu grips his sword so tightly that it hurts. Everything is exactly as it was when they had just fought. It doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t have the time to think any of that through, though. There is a more pressing matter at hand—Zam is alive. And he has no right to be.

His hands somehow still shake on the hilt of his sword—even with his death grip on it—and he very much hopes that Zam doesn’t notice. Showing any sort of weakness now would only make it obvious to Zam that Wemmbu is more affected by this whole thing than he would ever impart. Which he isn’t. Affected, that is. He isn’t.

“What, are you scared I’ll win?” Wemmbu asks, voice low. He isn’t sure why he’s stalling—maybe the allure of finally killing Zam has worn off now that Wemmbu has… imagined it, or already lived through it, or whatever. 

No, he definitely still wants Zam dead. It’ll satisfy him this time, he tries to convince himself.

Zam hesitantly lowers his sword, as if he’s been given some indication that this is a ceasefire. “No, I’m scared I’m gonna kill you by accident. I don’t want you dead, Wemmbu.”

‘You’re a little too pathetic to be killed, Wemmbu.’

Zam’s words now mirror those from before. It isn’t lost on Wemmbu that Zam thinks he’s so much stronger than Wemmbu that he might kill him by accident. That he might lift up his boot and discover that he inadvertently crushed a bug underfoot.

Well, fuck that.

Zam is weak for thinking this way—for considering for even a second that mercy is an option here. It isn’t. Not for Wemmbu, at least.

Zam is also weak for lowering his guard in the first place, admitting such a revealing piece of information. He likely assumes that Wemmbu’s silence is acquiescence. That, in a moment of vulnerability, Wemmbu will beg for forgiveness and lower himself to his knees like a mortal sacrifice to a deity.

Unfortunately, his days of deference have passed. The curtain has been lifted, and instead of a higher being before him, Wemmbu only sees a coward who knows he cannot win. He sees a king with no guards left to hide behind.

He doesn’t hesitate this time. His blade is embedded in Zam’s chest within an instant. In an inexplicable moment of paranoia—Is he dead this time? Did Wemmbu actually kill him?—he pulls the blade back out. Stabs him again. Again. Until blood is spattered all over his face and armor, and Zam’s mutilated corpse sags out of his grip onto the wet rock.

The surrounding pool of rainwater is stained a gruesome scarlet as blood continues to seep. Wemmbu watches, doesn’t dare look at his hands. He wants to throw up, and he isn’t quite sure why. With all the bloodshed he has caused and witnessed on this server, this shouldn’t bother him as much as it does.

But a face contorted in fear, eyes wide and shocked, stares up at him accusingly. As the rain pours down, Wemmbu can almost imagine that those unblinking eyes are weeping.

His free hand twitches. Wemmbu glances around—no one is there, of course—before hesitantly crouching down and closing Zam’s eyes for him.

When he removes his hand, a smear of blood is left on Zam’s eyelids. He stares down at his palm, nauseated but unable to tear his gaze from the sight. Covered so thoroughly in blood that it gives the impression that he has dipped his hand in paint. Even as the rain steadily washes it away, there is still blood on his hands. The blood of those he has killed before this, the blood of innocents, the blood of Zam.

He isn’t sure how long he stands like that, staring at a hand that is now physically spotless, save for small droplets of rain.

But at some point, his mental anguish is cut short by the impact of an arrow striking him in the forehead.

~  ⏾  ~

Chapter Text

Wemmbu’s sword almost falls out of his hand. Just in time, he forces his eyes open and tightens his grip. He glances down at his free hand. No blood. There’s no blood. 

Here he is again, with a bitch of a headache. Also—and he feels a sudden, unwelcome stab of relief at this—Zam is alive. 

Of course, there is the instinct to rush forward and attack him. But the thought of seeing him lifeless, the tension seeping out of his body along with all the blood, makes Wemmbu’s stomach turn. There are so many unknowns right now, and he can’t even attempt to figure out what is going on, because all he can think about is the sea of red on the ground under him. 

But it’s not there. He fixes his gaze on the ground under him. The downpour has created large puddles, so much so that he’s practically wading in the water. The surrounding ocean—Wemmbu fondly remembers looking out at it from his balcony, back when he’d had a room at the castle—is surely on the verge of flooding the empire. That would have been of concern to Zam, if the aforementioned empire hadn’t already been blown up. 

Not that he cares, or anything. Zam Empire had never meant anything to him. At all. 

“Wemmbu?” Zam asks, and it sounds like he’s repeated it at least a few times, by his tone. His sword is raised defensively, and every muscle in his body appears to be tensed. It may be an odd thought, but this—seeing him stiff-postured and wary—is infinitely better than the sight of his slackened corpse. “Are we… still fighting, or what? You good to stop?” 

With clear hindsight, it seems obvious how he has to respond. Wemmbu would have considered it cowardly the first time he lived through this—he still does, honestly—but better to be cowardly than to have to relive the aftermath of killing Zam. He isn’t entirely sure why it took such a toll on him, why it forced him into an agony that he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy (Well, that’s actually really funny, considering who is currently in front of him), but he isn’t willing to go through it again to find out. 

“Yeah.” His voice is low, almost inaudible over the rain, even to his own ears. He tries and probably fails to keep his expression impassive. “Yeah, we can stop.” 

Hesitantly, after a few moments of silent uncertainty, Zam sheathes his sword. Wemmbu does the same in turn, even though everything in him is screaming that he should get a killing blow in while he can. They stand in silence, the only sound being the incessant rain, because what do you say to your enemy now that you’ve declared a truce? 

“Okay, listen, I…” Zam swallows, the expression on his face rather pained. “I’m sorry. Betraying you was a shitty thing to do.” Was it really that hard to apologize? Wemmbu knows the guy is a king (well, was), but really, it wouldn’t hurt for him to act a little less entitled. 

Wemmbu nods, unsure whether he forgives Zam or not. It’s not even the betrayal itself that’s so hard to get over, really, it’s more about the psychological warfare that came with it. The constant, relentless taunting. From someone Wemmbu thought he knew. “Yeah. It was.” 

Well, actually, now that he has a break from the fighting, he can try to figure this out. This being the, um… time loop. If that’s even what it is. This is his third time starting back at the beginning of the fight with Zam.  

All of it started when Clownpierce shot him in the forehead for no apparent reason. Wemmbu hardly remembers what he might have said to provoke such a reaction, but honestly, it doesn’t matter. He started repeating this same fight once Clown shot him. There’s that. 

The hell is that supposed to mean, though? Why in all hell would this be happening, and to Wemmbu, of all people? If it’s some sort of game, Clownpierce should have put Parrot in it instead. Or that puzzle guy—Wifies. Yeah, wait, put the Harvard guy in the time loop! Leave Wemmbu the fuck alone! 

Anyway, he’s in a time loop. And the way to get out is probably not killing Zam. That’s something. Hey, look at him, Minecraft’s smartest YouTuber. 

He’s got Zam in front of him—the guy’s a nerd, he seems like the type of guy who would know exactly what to do in a time loop. Wemmbu has nothing to lose by asking him. And, besides, they’re… kind of civil right now. Maybe it would help to have another person’s opinion. 

“Random question. What you do if you were in a time loop?” Well, that was very subtle. 

Zam blinks at him slowly, as if the question isn’t absurd at all, as if Wemmbu is some sort of time traveler. Hey, wait, he technically is! Hell yeah! “Wemmbu,” he starts, cautiously. “Are you in a time loop?” 

“...No?” Actually, this reception is kind of eerie. Why is Zam taking his question seriously? Why isn’t he, like, making fun of Wemmbu for asking that, or something? 

“Oh my God, you’re in a time loop.” Zam laughs, holds a hand to his mouth as if he can’t believe it. “We’re both in a fucking time loop.” 

Huh? Huh? How could Zam be in a time loop, too? More importantly, where is he in the loop? 

“Wait, but I literally killed you, that’s not—” 

“I killed you!” 

Wemmbu is gaping at Zam, completely lost for words. Wait, so Wemmbu killed Zam, and Zam killed Wemmbu, and they’re both in—pause, Zam killed him in a previous loop? “Hey, wait a second, why’d you kill me?” 

First of all, that’s impossible, because Wemmbu is obviously more skilled at fighting than Zam is. Half the times they’ve fought before this, Zam couldn’t hold his own, so he had to cry to his guards and make them finish the job. Second of all, and probably more significant, Zam has had this whole philosophy where he ‘hasn’t wanted to kill Wemmbu’ this whole time. Why would Zam have killed him in the first place, which probably was the thing that put him into the time loop? Or is he lying about being in a time loop at all? Wemmbu wouldn’t put that past him. 

Zam’s silent for a few beats. “I didn’t mean to.” 

Wemmbu scoffs; he can’t help himself. Is Zam serious? “Oh, so your sword slipped and you accidentally stabbed me? Yeah, right, bro.” 

“Okay, fuck off, that’s not what I meant—” Zam sighs, rubs at his forehead like he has a migraine. He probably does—Wemmbu’s assuming they found their way into the loop the same way, in which case, he has a headache from the fucking arrow Clownpierce shot through his skull. “We’re getting off topic. Don’t you want to get out?” 

“You know how?” 

“Honestly, I was kinda hoping you did.” 

Wemmbu holds back a sigh. Well, fuck. He would never admit it, but Zam is probably more likely than him to puzzle out this sort of thing. If he can’t figure it out, then Wemmbu has no hope. 

When he doesn’t reply, caught up in his own thoughts, Zam continues, “Well, do you have… I don’t know, any clues? On how to get out?” 

Wemmbu could count the few pieces of information he has discovered on one hand. He does count them off on his fingers as he lists them. “One, Clownpierce is a bitch. Two… uh… killing you probably isn’t the solution. Three… bro, I don’t know.” 

Zam heaves another sigh, this one even more dramatic than the last, and he looks so impossibly exasperated that Wemmbu almost wants to kill him again. “Deadass? That’s… that’s all you’ve learned in however many loops you’ve been through?” 

“I’ve been through two!” Wemmbu protests, even though it’s only halfway true, because this is his third loop. Anyway, it’s not fair of Zam to act all high and mighty—he probably doesn’t have any other useful information, because he asked Wemmbu for help (and, let’s be honest here, he wouldn’t have done so for any reason other than sheer desperation). “Are you doing any better, Einstein?” 
“Yeah, actually.” Against all odds, Zam figured out a hell of a lot more than him. He goes on to explain this whole thing about Clownpierce originally wanting to bring both him and Wemmbu to some prison thing—Wemmbu ended up dying, so in lieu of that, Zam got put into the “experiment” (that’s what he’s calling this). Zam concluded in his last loop that to escape, he has to save Wemmbu, as well as probably kill Clown. 

“Holy yap,” Wemmbu replies, as if he isn’t baffled and at least a little begrudgingly impressed. “...But how many loops have you been through?” 

“This is my fourth.” 

“Yeah, so you had more time than me. That’s why you figured all that out.” 

Zam’s eye genuinely twitches. “No, I figured it out because I have common sense.” He holds a hand to his forehead and stares Wemmbu down with an expression that can only be described as revulsion. “Literally, I might as well just kill you again and escape this thing by myself.” 

“Hey, no, wait, you need my help,” Wemmbu protests. If Zam’s actually considering killing him in this loop, what happens? Wemmbu goes back to the beginning, duh… but if Zam escapes, then he has no way out. He has no choice but to work with Zam, but it’s not like Wemmbu’s going to kiss his ass and stroke his overinflamed ego. 

“I don’t.” Zam narrows his eyes. “You’re dead weight.” 

It strikes Wemmbu like a blow. If there is one thing he has been trying to prove since Zam’s betrayal, it has been his usefulness. Wemmbu isn’t fucking weak! He proved as much when he killed Zam twice! Speaking of which, maybe Wemmbu should do that a third time, if Zam’s going to be so difficult. Maybe, in the next loop, Zam will finally admit that he isn’t as superior as he presents himself to be.  

Well, probably not. But still. 

Out of nowhere, at the worst moment he possibly could have chosen to dramatically arrive, Clownpierce strolls into view. “Finally, things are getting interesting! I was wondering when the two of you would stop fighting each other.” 

Wemmbu exchanges a glance with Zam, and it’s apparent that a second truce has been declared within these few seconds. It’s just like what Wemmbu had told him the first time that the two of them met—‘I don’t betray people when my interests align with them.’ Doesn’t matter how arrogant, entitled, or condescending Zam is. Right now, both of them want Clownpierce dead so that they can escape the time loop. Maybe Zam thinks that he can do this alone, but even so, it would be downright stupid to reject extra support in killing Clown. 

Wemmbu doesn’t hesitate, going for a hit while he has the possibility of catching Clown off guard. He’s met with a graceful parry, because of course, when has Clownpierce ever been caught unawares? 

Within mere seconds, swords fly, metal flashing through the air like lightning. In theory, it’s two versus one, so it shouldn’t be an even fight in any regard. However, when contending with someone who is objectively one of the strongest fighters on the server, that’s not how it goes. Clownpierce has the prowess to counter both of their blows, as well as land an impressive amount of his own. 

“Honestly, I didn’t think you two would last this long,” Clown announces after very nearly lobbing Wemmbu’s arm off. He doesn’t even sound out of breath. 

Zam backs away for a second to splash another potion. He gasps out, “What’s the goal here, Clown? Clearly, you can beat both of us.” 

It’s kind of a dumb question, and Wemmbu’s surprised he asked it in the first place. It seems apparent that Clown isn’t trying to prove anything or even kill one of them—this is some sort of sick entertainment for him. Thinking back on Zam’s story—if it was real, anyway—Clown had originally wanted to put both of them in some sort of prison. Why would he do that, or the whole time loop thing, for that matter, if he has no grudge against either of them?  

Because he’s a fucking lunatic, and lunatics do weird shit when they get bored. 

Like put people into time loops. Or betray their friends for fun, and make them guard an empty vault to keep them occupied while hiring hitmen to go after them. Hypothetically, of course. 

Of course, Clown only smiles and gives a non-answer. “That’s the question, isn’t it, Zam?” 

Cryptic bitch. The fight goes on for another few minutes, the ever-downpouring rain and the exertion of the fight wearing on both him and Zam. Honestly, it feels like Clown is the one prolonging the fight, which is absurd—it’s evident that he’s holding back. 

Clownpierce, instead of going for another hit, pearls away and upwards so that he’s above them, nocking a bow on his arrow in one deft motion. 

He has the nerve to feign a yawn. “Next time, try to impress me.” 

Wemmbu knows what comes next before it happens—as soon as he gathers the sense to try to run, an arrow hits him square in the forehead. He feels himself plummet to the ground before everything goes black. 

~ 𖤓 ~ 

Zam presses a hand to his forehead as soon as he manages to open his eyes. Wemmbu’s already awake—makes sense, because he got shot first—and he’s pacing furiously. Still can’t fucking sit still. Some things never change. 

“Well, good morning, sunshine,” Zam says in deadpan. 

Wemmbu shoots him a glare, but doesn’t reply. What, is it Zam’s fault that they’re in this situation? 

It’s kind of a wonder that they’re both in the experiment; speaking of which, are he and Wemmbu in the same time loop? Is this just one instance where their loops overlap? For his first variations, Zam restarted at one specific time and place—the moment he’s about to join his guards in chasing Wemmbu—but in the last loop, he started at another. Right here, at the supposed beginning of the fight. 

It begs a few questions. One of which: is Clownpierce screwing with the experiment to make it more entertaining? 

It wouldn’t surprise Zam. Sounds like something the guy would do. 

He can’t help but feel like he’s missing something, though. There’s this really weird sense of deja vu, and not just because he’s in a time loop. It’s hard to explain. 

“So,” Zam asks after the two of them have literally stood in the rain for a solid ten minutes, unspeaking. Wemmbu is still pacing, and honestly, he must be dizzy by now. “What are we doing?” 

“Waiting.” 

Zam actually laughs, the response is so absurd to him. It’s so un-Wemmbu to just give up. “...For Clown to kill us again? Are you seriously just gonna lay down and die?”  

“No.” He shakes his head fervently. “I’m gonna win.” 

“Bro, come on, we have no chance if we don’t go in with some sort of—” 

“We have all the time in the world. I don’t care if it takes two loops or two hundred, I’ll beat him.” He sounds so genuinely convinced of this that Zam suspects he must be deluded or something. With how badly Clownpierce clobbered them last time, they have no chance. Zam doubts that in two hundred duels, they would win even once. 

Also, and Zam isn’t certain if he’s reading too much into this: Wemmbu isn’t saying ‘we’ would beat Clown, he’s insisting that he can do it himself. It’s insulting that Wemmbu thinks of himself so highly, especially over Zam. Maybe it’s just Wemmbu’s tunnel vision at the moment, or maybe Zam needs to start calling him weak again to lower his ego. 

Needless to say, this variation hardly takes any time at all to finish. At least when he’d been fighting against Zam, Wemmbu seemed to get his energy from an endless well of hatred and hurt from the betrayal, but against Clown, it’s not like he has any sort of motivation except ‘I won’t lose’.  

Zam tries to keep up with the both of them, but he knows that this is futile. They might as well just give up. 

Wemmbu dies by Clownpierce’s blade. It’s rather anticlimactic—though he does make sure to firmly avert his gaze from the body. Not something he wants to see again. 

Zam sighs. If Wemmbu were in his position, he would have kept fighting regardless of how slim the chances were of winning.  

Both fortunately and unfortunately, he is not Wemmbu. 

“Yeah, honestly, just shoot me.” 

~ 𖤓 ~ 

“Are you going to listen to reason this time?” Zam asks Wemmbu after the two of them gain back consciousness, a little exasperated. He can already guess the answer—after all, what was it that he’d said? Wemmbu would literally go through this loop as many times as it took to kill Clown? Yeah, they were gonna be here for a while. Perhaps eternity.  

“We were winning.” Wemmbu almost sounds like he’s trying to convince himself of this. He’s not pacing this time, instead throwing his sword up in the air and catching it like a baton. He almost stabs himself more times than Zam can count. “If you just pulled your weight, we would’ve had him.” 

He doesn’t even really feel like arguing. If it’ll help Wemmbu sleep at night to think that Zam is the one holding them back from winning, then so be it. “Whatever. You’re delusional.” 

The fight lasts a little longer this time, admittedly, but it might be by chance. They get in a good number of hits—maybe the muscle memory of having fought alongside each other for weeks is finally kicking in. But, against Clownpierce, it feels like there’s no way of winning. He has an unpredictability to the way that he fights, where you can never tell how many hearts he’s on, and you can never guess what he means to do next. 

Zam isn’t actually sure which of them dies first. But, long story short, the fight ends with both of them getting run through with a sword. 

~ 𖤓 ~ 

And so does this one. 

~ 𖤓 ~ 

And this one. 

Zam had always been puzzled when he thought of the story of Sisyphus—after all, why would he eternally continue to push the boulder, if he knew it was doomed to tumble downhill before reaching the mountain’s summit? Why wouldn’t he just say, ‘fuck you, Zeus, I’ll sit at the bottom of this hill until the end of time’? 

Zam gets it now. Hope. Somehow, he had hope. 

Even though the cycle is arduous, and it seems to yield the same outcome every single time, there is an ounce of doubt in the back of his mind. Just enough to give him pause. To make him listen to Wemmbu when he continues to insist with childlike persistence that this might finally work. 

What if you win this time? 

Well, not in this variation. Maybe next time. 

~ 𖤓 ~ 

Yeah, what-fucking-ever. If Wemmbu wants to run into a brick wall hundreds of times believing that something will change, then Zam will let him. It’s not like he could really stop him, anyway. Wemmbu does what he pleases, and he doesn’t really have the sense to listen to logic. Ever. 

“Maybe we could get stuff for minecarts somewhere. We can banana cart him.” Wemmbu’s back to pacing. If Zam didn’t have a migraine already from getting repeatedly shot in the head, watching Wemmbu spiral would probably give him one. 

“Have you listened to anything I’ve said?” Zam demands, exasperated. Maybe Wemmbu just likes to hear himself talk, because half of what he’s been saying, he’s repeated for the second or third time. “I don’t have any of that shit here, so we would have to go back to spawn or something. And if we get too far away from the experiment thing, we restart.” 

“Right, right. I knew that.” 

Zam wants to bang his head against a wall. 

Spoiler alert: Wemmbu doesn’t listen to reason. Not in any of the previous loops, nor in this one. Because what could possibly be better than repeating the same fight, again, that has ended the same way every time? It feels like they haven’t even been remotely close in most of the loops. 

They aren’t in this one, either. 

However, after a solid ten minutes, Clown does the same thing he did in the first loop. He pearls up to where Zam and Wemmbu can’t reach him with swords, bow drawn, but doesn’t make a move to shoot. 

He laughs. “This is pathetic! From two of the so-called ‘strongest players’ on the server, I was expecting more of a fight!”  

Zam stares up at him through a narrowed gaze, blinking rain out of his eyes. If Zam were Clown, he would have gotten bored by now. They’ve done this time after time, with the same tiresome result recurring. So, is he going to screw with the time loop again, assuming he’s been pulling strings this whole time? 

“If I’m being honest, it’s funny that the two of you are working together in the first place.” Clownpierce tilts his head to the side, his expression eerily indifferent. “I mean, you guys are in this time loop together. Zam, this is the same old Wemmbu that stabbed you in the neck a bunch of times for fun.” 

What. 

He might as well be choking on his own blood again, the sensation is so vivid in his mind. Zam swallows. He should be dead, reasonably, but he’s alive. 

No thanks to Wemmbu. 

“Wait, like, as in…” Zam glances over at him, then back to Clown, disbelieving. “This Wemmbu?” It had been beyond brutal. A torture that he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. Living afterwards with the knowledge of how dying like that felt… Well, that might be the worst part. He can hardly put it into words. 

“Ask him yourself.” 

Zam doesn’t get the chance. “Okay, wait, Zam, I—” For once, Wemmbu is speechless. His mouth hangs open slightly, and he won’t quite meet Zam’s eyes. There’s his answer right there. “I regret it, okay? I… I regret it.” 

Before, Zam had been able to excuse the whole thing, because it wasn’t like he could blame this Wemmbu for something that a Wemmbu in another universe did. But it hadn’t been a different person after all. How could he trust someone who had literally killed him in a brutal way just because he could? Just because he was butt-hurt about a long-passed betrayal? (It hasn’t really been that long, but his sense of time is fucked up). 

“Well! I’ll leave you to it,” Clownpierce says cheerfully. It faintly registers that he probably revealed this in the first place to mess with Zam’s head, to turn him against Wemmbu, but his shock overpowers any logical thought. 

This time, since he’s turned to face Wemmbu, the arrow hits him in the side of the head. It’s debatable whether it hurts more or less than the other times. Does it really matter? 

~  ⏾  ~ 

Chapter Text

Shit.

That’s the most coherent thought Wemmbu can form after he opens his eyes again, only to see dark, accusing eyes staring back at him. 

He dumbly stands there in the downpour for a few long moments, trying to piece together his own motivation, or rather, an acceptable reason for why he did it. Trying to think before he speaks—an uncommon occurrence—as not to screw this up completely and end up dead in a puddle. Every muscle in his body is pulled taut, and for once, he is perfectly still.

The truth is, Wemmbu does regret it, but not for the reasons he knows he should. He regrets the violent stain of blood on his hands, the sea of red under his boots, the lack of satisfaction. He regrets the toll that it took on him, because executing the backstabbing tyrant shouldn’t have made him feel such an overpowering wave of guilt. Sic semper tyrannis, or something like that. 

Thing is, Wemmbu doesn’t regret killing Zam. It had to be done. It was retribution, justice for his mistreatment at the hands of his former ally.

It doesn’t matter how inexplicably wrong it had felt as he thrust the knife in Zam’s throat. It doesn’t matter how his stomach turns now just thinking of the scene, of all that blood on his hands. This is what he’d wanted, right? The last word. No one betrays Wemmbu and gets away with it.

The worst part about it all is that Zam doesn’t even look remotely surprised. His jaw is clenched tightly, brows drawn. Wemmbu cannot even begin to decipher the cacophony of emotions on his face.

Wemmbu sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry—”

“No, you’re not.” The interruption is immediate, holding a sharp sense of finality.

It’s also, undeniably, true. Nevertheless, Wemmbu opens his mouth to argue, but one look at Zam’s borderline-mutinous expression shuts him up. There’s no point in denying his indifference if neither of them will believe it.

“Y’know, the funny thing,” Zam begins, bitterly. “Is that you somehow think you can lie your way out of this. You really think I don’t get how you work? I—” He cuts himself off with a scathing, humorless laugh. “Oh my fucking God.”

“Zam…” Wemmbu doesn’t know what he means to say. Maybe I’m sorry, again, even though it would be futile. Even though Zam would continue to glare daggers at him, perhaps even stab him with the aforementioned dagger.

Wemmbu is a confrontational person by nature—better to face his problems head on, run right into a brick wall, than to beat around the bush. He’s never had any trouble putting his feelings into words, or better yet, actions. Sure, those responses are impulsive and rash more often than not, but that’s besides the point.

He genuinely can’t remember the last time that he was truly, entirely, lost for words. Unable to come up with some way to express any of it. Or, in this particular situation, maybe he just can’t think of any way to both talk this out and appease Zam: because, to be clear, if he doesn’t appease Zam, he’s probably dead. Time loop or no time loop, Zam knows how to hold a grudge. It’s something he and Wemmbu have in common.

Zam continues on his spiel, though it sounds awfully like he’s talking to himself, rather than to Wemmbu. “I was so stupid not to listen to my gut. I never should have allied with you in the first place, I mean, I knew you were a loose cannon.” His voice is low, trembling with barely restrained fury. “I tried to convince myself that you seemed like someone with at least an ounce of loyalty—you only screw with people when they screw with you. Or, so you said. But I get it now. You burn whoever you want, whenever you want, without a care in the world.” Zam takes a step forward, fists clenched tightly. He looks just about ready to kill someone. “Honestly, Wemmbu, do you care about anything?”

Wemmbu swallows, his throat suddenly feeling dry. Who is he kidding? All of it is true. Zam has continuously given him chances to leave everything behind them, to start a new life far away from the empire. And yet, when given the option to wipe the slate clean, Wemmbu had not only gone back to save Egg from Zam’s clutches, but he had leveled the entire empire with no qualms. In fact, he’d relished the feeling of destroying something Zam had built, of proving that he was not weak.

“I care about Egg,” Wemmbu tries, but his voice wavers. It’s an inadequate response, even to his own ears. Noncommittal.

“Do you? Or does it make you feel less pathetic to keep him around?”

“No! I—” He stumbles over his words. Going after Egg is a low blow. “You have no right to call me pathetic when all you know how to do is hide behind your guards!”

But it does make him feel less pathetic to have someone behind him who constantly needs saving, a vicious voice in the back of his head insists, doesn’t it? Someone who couldn’t win a fight if his life depended on it. Someone who knows when to quit.

“I’m not hiding now, am I?” Zam counters. He makes a vehement gesture as if to prove it. “But you, on the other hand—you knew you couldn’t beat me, so you had to nuke my entire life’s work! You were pissed that I got the last word, so you buried thousands of innocent people in ash! I have half a mind to just… let you fucking die in this experiment. Something like you should never see the light of day again.” He spits out his words like he cannot bear to keep them back any longer, each one syncopated so violently that Wemmbu cannot act like he didn’t hear them.

This is no longer just about Wemmbu killing Zam twice—no, this runs deeper. This is Pandora’s Box, which Clownpierce opened by exposing Wemmbu, and it’s impossible to close it and act like nothing happened. All Wemmbu can do now is try to control the situation, to get out of it relatively unscathed. Which he is failing miserably at, as of right now.

He is struck with the sudden, cowardly urge to run. He could face any number of enemies with a grin on his face, he could stare death in the face and hold his head high. But he cannot face himself, the question of his own morality. He cannot allow himself to consider, for a moment, that the lives he’s taken were unnecessary. He would never cause senseless violence.

Right?

Wemmbu glances down at his traitorous, shaking hands. Why does he keep doing that? There’s no blood.

“Everything I…” He swallows. Forces more confidence into his voice. Digs his nails into his palms to keep his voice from shaking. “Everything I did was justified. An eye for an eye.”

Only one of them knows it, but Wemmbu’s words echo Zam’s from his second loop, all that time ago—‘an empire for an empire’.

Zam nods heavily, eyeing Wemmbu with an intensity that could melt steel, holding the two of them in silence for much longer than is comfortable. Wemmbu is surprised he can stand to hold that gaze. The only audible sounds are the wind and the torrential downpour—rather befitting.

Then, Zam smiles sourly. “Did you enjoy it? Watching me die, knowing it was by your hand?”

Wemmbu doesn’t expect the question, so it lands like a blow. It would be so easy to say ‘yes’. To feed into this narrative that Zam is trying to spin—painting Wemmbu as some sort of villain, when his greatest crime is simply remembering those who have harmed him and swearing to return the deed. He should just say ‘yes’, double down, because isn’t it better to be seen as cruel than weak? One instills fear, and the other does no good (unless you’re Eggchan).

But something incomprehensible in Wemmbu—for once—doesn’t let him lie. “No.”

“See? You—” Zam’s expression abruptly contorts in shock, as if only just then processing Wemmbu’s answer. It’s a little disheartening that the man who used to be his closest ally thinks so lowly of him. Unsurprising, though. “...What?”

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not fucking insane.” Wemmbu shrugs. “No, Zam, I didn’t enjoy killing you. Believe me, I wish I could say I did. Would make the whole thing a lot easier.”

Zam’s brows knit. “Then… then why did you kill me, if not for the satisfaction?” The question is, honestly, uncharacteristic, but abnormal circumstances yield abnormal reactions. Zam has been beaten down, in mind and in spirit, more so than either of them have knowledge of.

To prove that I’m not weak. But Wemmbu doesn’t say that. He wouldn’t dare.

“Retribution.” It’s the only answer that feels right. 

“So, you think that nuking my empire and everyone in it, then murdering me in cold blood twice, puts us on equal footing?”

“I think so, yeah,” Wemmbu argues. Honestly, the whole thing does sound a little overkill, when Zam puts it that way, but he doesn’t get how badly Wemmbu was scarred by the betrayal. By the relentless taunting, by how weak it all made him feel. No one gets to make him feel insignificant. “You betrayed me, tried to kill me a bunch of times, and you also blew up my empire!”

“Yeah, but only, like, five people lived there and they all turned out fine. I think.”

“It wasn’t five!” Well, wait… actually, it might have been five. But Wemmbu wants to win this argument, and he’s not going to admit to Zam that he was mistaken. “It was at least six.”

“And here I thought you couldn’t count,” Zam retorts dryly, the ghost of a smile on his face. He still looks a little pissed, of course, but then again, Zam was always the more graceful of the two. He was a diplomat… or something like that.

Which makes Wemmbu think that maybe he would be open to putting this behind them, if only so that they could both make it out of this time loop in one piece. “Listen, I know you don’t exactly want to work with the guy who killed you twice, but for now, we have to get out of here. Once this is all over, we never have to see each other again. Or you can send your goons after me, or whatever.” 

Zam pauses for a long moment, his expression a contemplative one. Shit, maybe it was a long shot to ask that. Wemmbu knows for sure that if their positions were reversed, he already would have started up another fight with Zam, tried to get even the only way he knew how.

The eventual answer was a reluctant, “Fine. Fine, but you better not try to kill me again after this. We’re even.”

His relief is immediate and substantial. Holy shit, Zam is either a pushover or a reasonable guy, and Wemmbu is thankful either way. “Yeah.” He, in a moment of spontaneous lack of thought, adds, “I really am sorry, for killing you. I mean it.”

The response that he receives is an unexpected one. Zam just shakes his head, a sad smile on his face. Small droplets of rain scatter from the movement. “You don’t have to lie. I get why you did it.”

“But I’m not lying.” He does mean it this time, and he isn’t entirely sure why. Wemmbu isn’t just saying it to placate Zam, and he’s unsure why he feels so adamant that he must convince him of this.

“And why would I be different from all the other people you’ve killed?” Zam’s voice holds no judgment, for he understands better than most how it feels to have blood on his hands. There’s just a bitter sort of resignation.

“Because we were…” Wemmbu trails off. “We were friends, weren’t we?” 

It feels so juvenile to say. He wishes he could take that back without making himself sound even weaker. He should have fucking thought before he spoke, but no, now he just called Zam a friend where Zam had seen Wemmbu as a threat to his empire. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, right? No wonder Zam had drawn him in so closely; how else would he have kept an eye on the guy who was infamous for breaking alliances?

Wemmbu is so fucking stupid. It had been so obvious, in hindsight. He hates himself for having trusted Zam, even after all this time.

“Friends?” Zam sounds just about as incredulous as he ever has. And Wemmbu has no time to remedy the stupid, thoughtless thing he just said, because at the worst possible moment, a familiar voice pipes up from out of nowhere.

“Friends?” Clownpierce echoes, snickering in his typical, insufferable way. Of course. Of course, he would show up right now. Wemmbu isn’t surprised in the slightest. “My sweet, sweet Wemmbu, you think this guy’s your friend?” He gestures to Zam dismissively. “I—”

‘My sweet, sweet Wemmbu.’ The label Zam had given Wemmbu following the betrayal.

Wemmbu can’t help but rise to the obvious bait. Through clenched teeth, he grits out, “Don’t call me that.”

It makes him see red even now, that stupid, condescending nickname, even though it shouldn’t. Wemmbu claims—much too often, to the point where it feels more like he’s convincing himself than anyone else—that he’s over the whole thing, that he hasn’t given a second thought to Zam since the betrayal.

Well, if he had even the slightest hope of keeping up that pretense in front of Zam himself, he definitely blew it by responding that aggressively to something so trivial. 

Clownpierce slowly turns his head to Wemmbu, blinking through his lashes, as if his statement had been completely innocuous. “What?” He asks innocently. “Have you never heard an endearing nickname before?”

“Shut up. What do you want?” Wemmbu changes the subject without an ounce of subtlety, but he doesn’t care. The escape to the time loop is right in front of him, and all he has to do is kill the guy! He’ll do it this time. This is the type of shit he’s supposed to be good at—maybe Wemmbu can’t solve an intricate escape room built for a Harvard nerd, but he can fight. In fact, he’s itching for another duel, a fight that he’ll win. After all, if there’s one thing that Wemmbu can’t stand, it’s losing. 

It’s watching as someone undeserving crosses the finish line before him. It’s the rush of blood in his ears as he listens to a crowd cheer his opponent’s name.

It’s the cold-burning rage he felt after Zam told him he was ‘too pathetic to be killed’, as he’d stood amidst the ruins of the colony he’d constructed for Zam himself.

“Well, I wanted to have a civil conversation, but if you want to get right back to losing against me over and over again, then be my guest.” Clownpierce shrugs indifferently, as if fighting Wemmbu is hardly even worth the energy.

As if he’s insinuating that Wemmbu is weak.

In one impulsive, fluid motion, he has his sword unsheathed and is about to go for a blow—

But an abrupt hand on his shoulder stops him. Wemmbu—out of some subconscious instinct—eases up slightly, looks over at Zam for an explanation or an order. The movement is so second-nature to him that it’s almost concerning.

“Don’t,” Zam tells him with an elegant shake of his head, squeezing Wemmbu’s shoulder gently before letting go. His tone is that of a parent warning a young child. It is a gesture that Wemmbu should find completely imperious, after all, he is not Zam’s subject, nor his guard, least of all his friend.

But instead of snapping back, or ignoring him and attacking Clownpierce anyway, Wemmbu clenches his jaw and steps back, sheathing his sword again. “Fine.”

It surprises even him. What, is he Zam’s lapdog? Why the hell should it matter that Zam doesn’t want to take this fight? Wemmbu knows he can win. He will win. 

“Clownpierce, my good pal,” Zam begins, and he sounds deceptively amiable. Well, he has always been quite the actor. “We’ve done business together before. You know how I work; I’m an up-front kind of guy. Right?”

“On the contrary. I would say you’re the biggest fraud I’ve ever offered my services to. But, please, do continue.”

Zam’s eye twitches, but his car-salesman smile does not falter for a moment. “You never ended up killing Parrot, like I asked you to. Aren’t you technically indebted to me?”

“Compelling argument, really.” Clown’s voice is flat, and he doesn’t sound inclined to negotiate in the least. He can probably tell where the conversation is headed; hell, even Wemmbu knows what Zam was trying to get at. Since Clownpierce owes Zam from that one time he was hired to kill Parrot and failed—which Wemmbu actually had a hand in, when he hid Parrot—Zam’s arguing that they would be on even footing if Clown let him out of the experiment. The only problem with that solution: where would that leave Wemmbu? Nowhere good, evidently. “But, might I remind you, you’re here to entertain me. So, either you find a way to escape, or I’ll have to kill you for my own amusement.”

Wemmbu, not unlike an excited child watching an argument, keeps glancing between Clown and Zam, anticipating the next move from either side. It’s very entertaining, that is, until Clownpierce drops something that changes everything.

“Oh, and please don’t try to kill yourself again. So miserable to watch,” Clown adds with an eye roll. Zam blanches—wait, what? Did he… did he really attempt to kill himself in another loop? Then, Clown holds a hand to his mouth dramatically—as if shocked, but really, it’s clear that he’s stifling a laugh. “Did I say that out loud? Silly me. Forget I said anything.”

“What are you talking about?” Zam’s voice shakes slightly, and his eyes are wide. The reaction makes Wemmbu think that Zam hasn’t actually tried anything like that, but he’s almost certainly thought about it.

Clown tilts his head, grinning like—you guessed it—a clown. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes. What are you talking about?” He sounds desperate, which isn’t a descriptor that Wemmbu would have ever pictured Zam to be. There’s a first for everything, he supposes. He would probably relish seeing Zam so humbled if it was under different circumstances—not long ago, he had no qualms about murdering Zam himself, but this feels different somehow.

“Shame you don’t remember. It was a real tearjerker.” Clown shrugs. “You went through a few loops, and you lost it after no time at all. Walked up to the highest tower that was still standing and jumped off.” He says it in such a casual, callous manner that Wemmbu feels physically sick to his stomach. He braves a glance at Zam, partially to make sure that he’s still there, and immediately has to force himself to look away. Zam’s expression is at ends with itself—confusion, revelation, and a sort of frustration are on display there.

The worst part might be that he doesn’t even look that surprised. He looks like he genuinely believes that he would do something like that.

“Why don’t I remember?” Zam demands, but even though he’s trying to keep a sharp edge to his tone, it’s evident that he’s struggling to restrain himself from crying.

“You didn’t want to.”

Wemmbu watches helplessly as Clown whips out his bow and shoots Zam point-blank with an arrow—out of nowhere, mind you. Clown clearly has a flair for the dramatic, because he constantly drops some sort of sinister voiceline right before killing—

The thought is cut off by a sudden, sharp pain right in Wemmbu’s skull.

~ 𖤓 ~

Zam’s throat is impossibly tight. Every raindrop hitting his skin is its own arrow striking him, over and over. There is either an earthquake, or he is shaking violently enough for his vision to blur slightly with the movement.

No. No, Clownpierce has to be lying. Zam would remember it, if he’d killed himself to end a loop. He wouldn’t have asked to forget something like that.

But how else can he explain the vague deja vu nagging at him in previous loops? The unexplainable gaps in his memory where there should have been something there?

The logical part of Zam can’t deny that the evidence is overwhelming. Besides, and he hates to admit it, is it really so far-fetched to suggest that he would have jumped? It wouldn’t have been the first time that Zam had thought of the idea, and that is what scares him the most.

Back when Zam had been in charge of his own empire, he’d considered it, of course. The pressure would get to anyone, even someone with many more years of leadership under his belt—he’d managed more subjects than he’d known what to do with. However, his empire was a double-edged sword of sorts. It had been both the very thing that had steered Zam to the edge, and the railing that kept him from jumping.

God, it just terrifies him that he doesn’t remember it. 

“So,” Wemmbu cuts in from a few feet away. He has a nervous, albeit somewhat sympathetic, smile on his face. Zam knows Wemmbu well enough—or, well, he did know him well enough—to recognize that he’s actually concerned for Zam. The thought brings him no satisfaction right now. In fact, Zam is rather mortified that he’s been humbled in such a way in front of someone who will almost certainly use it against him. “Um… you wanna talk, or…?” He trails off.

“No.” His response is immediate, too quick.

Damn, this is a horrible situation to be in. Zam would make a joke about wanting to kill himself to get out of the situation if it wouldn’t be so ill-timed.

He presses his eyes shut and imagines that everything is fine, that his empire is whole again. Yes, when he wakes up, one of his guards will tell him that this is all just a nightmare, and that he has much business to attend to.

Once Zam convinces himself of this, he opens his eyes.

Chapter Text

“Okay. Okay,” Zam starts. He isn’t entirely sure how to salvage this situation—this dilemma is unlike anything he had faced as a king, or during his more recent escapade as a lab rat—but Zam has always thought of himself as a proficient actor. How does one convince another person that he probably didn’t try to kill himself, and if he did, he doesn’t remember it, so it hardly holds significance anyway? “I don’t know what Clown’s playing at, but it’s probably best to ignore him. We have to focus on escaping.” Hopefully, he’s treading carefully enough.

Wemmbu’s quiet for a few moments; it’s unsettling. “You think he was lying? About…” He trails off, making a vague, uncomfortable gesture. It’s obvious what he’s referring to. However, Zam was really hoping that Wemmbu would just let it go. Then again, when has Wemmbu ever let anything go?

“Does it matter?” Zam counters. “Technically, it didn’t even happen.”

Perception is reality, isn’t that what people say? If he doesn’t remember killing himself, then it might as well have not happened in the first place. If no one is there to hear a tree fall in a forest, there might as well be no sound when it crashes. 

Only question is, does Zam really believe that?

“Yeah. Um… okay.” Wemmbu nods slowly, then looks away. Losing the weight of his gaze makes Zam feel much less like he’s getting wrongfully confronted. For once, Wemmbu finally has the sense to leave it alone. Zam internally breathes a sigh of relief; however, it’s short-lived.

“...But are you sure you don’t want to, like, talk—”

“Wemmbu.” Zam isn’t even surprised, honestly. He just really, really wants Wemmbu to be a little less stubborn for once. Realistically, if something else happens in this experiment, and the two of them are pitted against each other, he doesn’t want Wemmbu to have confirmation of Zam’s suicidal ideation as ammunition to use against him. “Leave it alone. Do you wanna get out of here, or not?”

“Yeah, I mean, I just—” Wemmbu glances back at him helplessly. “Are you—”

Neither of them will have to deal with the fallout of Wemmbu making an uncharacteristically vulnerable statement because, fortunately, Zam is at his breaking point. He yells, perhaps a little louder than the situation warranted,  “Leave it alone, holy shit!” 

Rain. All he can hear is what should be the soothing melody of the rain. However, layered with his incessant thoughts, the sound is overwhelming, a cacophony of discordant pitches. It doesn’t help that Wemmbu appears to be completely floored, his wide eyes blinking rapidly.

Just say something.

He isn’t sure whether the plea is directed towards himself or Wemmbu. Now, if such a thing is even possible, everything is too loud, and yet, it’s too quiet, because neither of them are speaking for once. If he listens close enough, perhaps he could hear the sound of Clownpierce’s laughter—after all, this must be quite the entertainment. Why would you ever watch television when you can simply pit two men against each other easier than pawns in a chess match? 

Zam lets out a measured breath. “This is stupid.” That’s about as much as he can put into words. He adds, after a strategic pause to surmise what might appeal to Wemmbu in this situation, “I… We shouldn’t be letting Clown get to our heads. We won’t see each other after this, anyway, so shit like this doesn’t even matter.” His words mirror those of Wemmbu from… however long ago. The hope is that, even though he doesn’t necessarily believe any of what he’s saying, Zam can talk him down using Wemmbu’s own logic.

He receives no response.

Dealing with politics didn’t prepare him for this shit in the slightest. At least, with most people, there had been a sort of deference when Zam spoke to them, a desire to keep him happy as not to be executed or worse. However, even in the moments when Wemmbu has had every reason to appease Zam, he has stopped at nothing to make this whole situation near-impossible for Zam to navigate.

Zam can’t decide if it’s undue humiliation, or a humbling that has been a long time coming. There has never been another time in his life where someone has outrightly gone against him so many times. Perhaps that is where Zam’s begrudging respect for Wemmbu comes from, and perhaps at some point Zam will be able to articulate this without feeling as though he has divulged some unspeakable secret. 

“What, am I not allowed to be worried about you, bro?” Wemmbu ventures hesitantly, tilting his head slightly, the movement possessing a strange, almost bird-like quality.

Zam blinks at him in confusion. Did he… hear that right? Wemmbu, worried, and moreover, directly telling Zam that he’s worried? Is this an alternate universe? Wouldn’t be too much of a stretch, what with the whole time loop situation and everything.

“I mean, no, you really shouldn’t be worried about me.” 

“What? Why not?”

“I just—” Zam cuts himself off. Wemmbu sounds so genuinely baffled that it vaguely reminds Zam of another loop. What had Wemmbu said then? Zam had been trying to talk him down from his dead-set goal of murdering Zam as revenge, and he’d said something about having betrayed Wemmbu due to the fear of what would happen when they weren’t on the same side anymore. In all honesty, the whole thing feels so far away, now—the betrayal, that is.

Wemmbu had said in return, “Why did you assume we had to be on different sides?” It caught Zam off guard then, and it does the same now. The funny part is that Zam doesn’t have an inherently good answer: one that won’t make him seem completely detached, anyway. He already managed to, pretty much, imply that he doesn’t give a shit about Wemmbu, so it’s likely only uphill from here.

“I don’t know,” he admits, so softly that if the two of them were any further apart, it would be inaudible over the deafening sound of the rain. Speaking of which, the only constant in this experiment has been that persistent onslaught of the very same storm, taking its toll as it beats down on Zam. He is certain that the sound of rain will evoke some sort of Pavlovian response after this whole ordeal. “I just assumed that you… y’know, didn’t care at all.” He doesn’t specify what about. It seems apparent enough. After all, it hasn’t been that long since Zam asked Wemmbu directly if he cared about anything, due to his tendency to do what he pleases without regard for what happens to those around him.

Wemmbu deflates slightly, his shoulders drooping, brows furrowing. “Zam, do you really think of me like that? Like, I don’t care about anything or anyone, like I don’t even remotely have feelings?”

He’s ashamed to admit as much, but that’s exactly how Zam has perceived Wemmbu for longer than he should have. There had been a time, of course, when he had seen Wemmbu as more of an equal—in fact, they had worked so well together as allies partially because of how similar they were. However, as Zam had learned as king, where betrayal is involved, it is best to take your heart out of it. He had told himself that all of the taunting, the insistence that Wemmbu was below him, was all necessary to keep Wemmbu from wounding Zam Empire in any way. In the end, it seems that it had the opposite effect, as his entire empire is currently in shambles around him.

Perhaps, when all is said and done, Zam had reversed the roles in his head, had chosen to selfishly view the situation from his own perspective. After all, he was the one who didn’t care, was that right? Whereas everything that Wemmbu did, he did because he cared. That sort of logic sounded pretty backwards to him, but perhaps that was because it was right.

So much for not being a dispassionate tyrant.

He remembers suddenly that Wemmbu had asked him a question. “I did, but…” Zam hesitates. “Shit. I owe you an apology.”

“You, apologizing? Bro, who are you?”

“I’m being serious. I’m sorry,” he insists. “I completely, like, disregarded how you felt this whole time. Like you said.” There’s a good chance that Wemmbu won’t accept the apology, being as stubborn as he is. However, for Zam, this might be the first time that apologizing to someone hasn’t been comparable to pulling teeth his out. Either this is progress, or the whole experiment thing has numbed him emotionally, and in both cases, he’ll never fully regain his ego. 

Wemmbu offers a bittersweet smile, shaking his head. “I never thought I would see the day. Never though I’d—damn. No one is going to believe this happened.” He laughs, but it’s more of a scoff. “I’d ask for a hug, but you have a history of stabbing me in the back.”

“...So, we’re good?” Zam is rendered speechless. Was it that easy, or is Wemmbu just acting like everything is resolved so that he’s lulled into a false sense of security, and he intends to betray Zam the second that—

Yeah, probably not.

“We’re good, bro.” Wemmbu shrugs. “Besides, like you said, it’s not like we’ll see each other again after this. Might as well keep working together to get out of this shit-hole.”

Right. They would never willingly cross paths again once this ordeal was over. Zam doesn’t allow himself to linger on the thought, on the insistent heaviness of it. More often than not, when there is a set time for something to end, it holds a sense of finality as that moment draws nearer. Zam should not feel such an overpowering sense of  nostalgia. He should not be missing moments that haven’t even occurred yet, especially not when they are in such unfavorable conditions, especially when the person he is missing wants nothing to do with him.

Wait, no, especially when they both want nothing to do with each other. Yeah.

Zam is going to ignore the Freudian slip he somehow made within his own thoughts.

“So,” he says awkwardly. “We just gonna… sit here until Clown shows up again?”

All Zam gets in response is a shrug, and then Wemmbu starts tossing his sword in the air and catching the hilt like a baton. “I don’t see why not. Unless you… suddenly wanna talk?” He eyes Zam closely, with a startling sort of clarity. He fumbles with his sword and drops it accidentally. “Fuck! Stupid rain.”

Zam isn’t sure what reminds him of it. Maybe it’s them working together again—two people who can’t trust each other but can certainly hold a conversation. But he starts, “You know—” Zam chuckles to himself. “—do you remember all that time we spent looking for Spoke? The random quests and shit?”

Wemmbu pauses. Zam thinks he sees him smile, only slightly. “Of… yeah. Of course I remember.”

“Good times.”

“I mean, yeah, but you were always bitching at me, complaining about something.” He continues throwing and catching his sword, and Zam watches the metal glint as it flits through the air. Wemmbu’s smile widens until it’s a begruding grin. “And you were a lot worse at fighting. Couldn’t do anything without your stupid guards.”

“Hey, I think I’ve improved,” Zam protests halfheartedly. “I mean, if you were having a hard time fighting me, I’m doing something right.”

“Okay, bro. You’re…” Wemmbu pauses, thoughtfully. The notion of Wemmbu being thoughtful in the least has seldom crossed Zam’s mind, so the sight is almost a shock. “Passable at fighting. You’re not bad.” He makes a gesture with his sword. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment, coming from you.”

“Coming from me, a ‘pathetic bug’?” Wemmbu laughs, and it’s—surprisingly—not bitter whatsoever. To surmise that he would suddenly be over the whole psychological warfare thing would be wishful thinking, so maybe he’s simply poking fun at the situation to seem as though he doesn’t care.

Zam shakes his head. How does he even reply to something like that? “I—bro, stop. You know I didn’t mean any of that shit. I was trying to get in your head.”

“I know. Didn’t work.” He shrugs placidly.

They are making progress trust-wise, but admittedly, there are some things (like the fact that Wemmbu was affected by the taunting) that will remain unspoken, at least for the time being. Zam has similar sentiment when it comes to the grudging respect and admiration he has for Wemmbu—he never quits, even when he is clearly outmatched. Sure, he employs immoral methods to even the playing field from time to time, like the stupid fucking orbital cannon, but it never once occurs to him to run from a fight.

Anyway. Enough of that. The conversation eventually turns to what would often occur when they had originally been allies—nonsensical, good-natured bickering. Wemmbu is yammering on about some sort of elytra-mace fighting method that would be useful against Clownpierce, but neither of them have a mace, and where the hell would they find a trial chamber? 

“Underground,” Wemmbu replies, as if it’s obvious and Zam is being dense.

“Use your brain for a second, smartass. Don’t you think that if there were a trial chamber under my empire, I would know?”

“Well, I don’t know, maybe—”

“Are you done?” Clownpierce asks out of nowhere, startling both Zam and Wemmbu, sounding impossibly bored. Maybe he should have designed another experiment, if he isn’t entertained by the two of them just trying to figure this thing out. “We have business to attend to.”

“Honestly, Zam, if we do this enough times, we’ll kill him,” Wemmbu whispers, much too loudly. Apparently, he can’t whisper. At all. For some reason, this detail is very fitting.

Clown tuts at them disapprovingly. “Not what I’m here for. Come on, you really thought that the point of this experiment was for you two to kill me?”

“...Yeah?” Wemmbu answers, at the same time that Zam asks, “Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to get us to do this whole time?”

“Yes.” Clown gestures to Zam with vague annoyance, like he’s explaining something to an oblivious toddler. “But only because I knew you wouldn’t be able to do it. The point, Zam, was for you to tolerate one another. And now, I raise you this.” He smiles, and it’s the type of smile that is sinister in a way that could only precede bad news. “Only one of you can make it out of the experiment alive.”

Chapter Text

Only one of you can make it out of the experiment alive.

Wemmbu’s throat goes dry. His gaze snaps to Zam’s—immediately, in that moment, he has two distinct realizations. One, if Zam has his way, Wemmbu will be the one walking out of this with his life. Two, for whatever reason, it would kill Wemmbu to be the reason for Zam’s death now.

That notion doesn’t bother him nearly as much as it should.

“So, how does this work?” Zam asks, breaking the silence that had fallen, his eyes pointedly downcast. “Like, whoever dies next… stays dead?”

And he reaches to unsheath his sword.

Clownpierce snatches it before Wemmbu can blink, let alone make a move to do the same. “That wouldn’t be much fun, Zam, now would it? No. You both have to agree on who doesn’t make it out. And then I let the other one go. Easy.”

Wemmbu has more than a few questions. First of all, what the hell? What genre of sadistic freak does someone have to be to do something like this? Out loud, he offers, “What if we can’t make a decision?”

“Lucky for you, there’s no time limit. Presumably, either you two sit here until the end of time, or I get bored and murder you both.” He grins, with much more cheerfulness than the situation warrants. “Good luck.” And, in true Clownpierce fashion, he’s gone within the blink of an eye.

Leaving a hurricane in his wake.

Or perhaps just the rain, everything else being eerily still—the sort of calm that is only seen just before a storm.

“Let me die.” Zam still doesn’t look up. His voice is resolute, rough around the edges. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“Zam, no, I—”

“Let me die!” He grits it out through clenched teeth, adamantly. Zam chooses this moment to meet Wemmbu’s eyes—they could be an extension of the storm, for there is a sort of thunder in their depths. “Let me die like this, and it means something! Face it, Wemmbu, I wasn’t going to last that much longer, anyway.”

Wemmbu had let him lie, before, about not remembering having committed suicide. His reasoning had been that it must have either been a lie fabricated by Clownpierce, or that it had been a particularly annoying loop for Zam and he’d gotten frustrated. Jumped off the tower so that he would be reset back at the beginning. He had given Zam the benefit of the doubt, hoped that the whole thing had been an anomaly.

I wasn’t going to last that much longer, anyway. He says it like it’s obvious. Like Wemmbu should have known.

The fact that he didn’t know, or really, he hadn’t wanted to believe it before, makes him feel sick to his stomach.

“If you go out like this, it doesn’t mean anything. We can—” Wemmbu’s voice breaks. “—Fuck, we can figure this out! There’s another way. There has to be.”

Zam stares him dead in the eyes. “You aren’t going to sacrifice yourself for me.”

The certainty with which he says it makes tears well in Wemmbu’s eyes, and he doesn’t even know why. This is… God, why can’t he just let this go? If Zam’s already a lost cause anyway, why does Wemmbu feel such a responsibility to save him?

“I mean… I don’t know, bro, I would if you let me.”

A flicker of surprise passes over Zam’s face, but he shuts down that idea immediately. “Then I’ll kill myself anyway.” Wemmbu flinches at the bluntness of it. “I don’t have anything left out there. No one is waiting for me on the other side. But you—you have Egg. You have so much shit left to do.”

“So do you—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

A great deal of this is Wemmbu’s fault. He sees it now, in hindsight—that this empire meant everything to Zam. That the great thing that is now mere wreckage around them had been the anchor keeping him afloat. Without it, what is he?

Wemmbu fumbles with his words. “Fine, so… so we’ll both survive. We’ll find a way.” It sounds naive even to his own ears, but he doesn’t care. He has to believe that they can both make it out, because to believe otherwise would be to let Clownpierce win. To surrender, and that word isn’t in Wemmbu’s vocabulary.

But Zam shakes his head sadly. In such a manner that it’s obvious he’s already resigned to his fate. There’s a bitter fondness to the remark as he replies, “You never know when to give up.”

“Stop talking like that, I’m not just gonna let you kill yourself!”

Well—again. He’s not going to let Zam kill himself again, because if he’s going to believe Clownpierce, there had been a loop where Zam jumped off a tower to end his life. Wemmbu isn’t sure where that leaves him in that situation; had he allowed it, encouraged it, even? It had been an earlier loop, but the only loops that Wemmbu—this Wemmbu—has lived through, he either murdered Zam himself or actively tried to prevent Zam from dying.

It scares him to think that it may have been his own hand that steered Zam to the edge, but such a thing wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility, considering how much Wemmbu had wanted him dead before.

“Fine, Wemmbu, then how are you going to solve this?” Zam sounds exasperated, as if Wemmbu is a puerile child who doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

To be fair, that assessment wouldn’t be all that far from the truth. “I—” He opens his mouth dumbly, as if a genius idea will hit him, and he’ll be able to save both of them. “I’ll think of something. I will.” Wemmbu repeats it, with more conviction, partially to persuade himself. Then, if only to have something to do, he begins to pace the part of the ruins that they’ve spent much more time in than either of them would have anticipated.

Really, it’s only been… what, a few hours? If Wemmbu makes it out of this, all of the time he has spent in this experiment will count for nothing. If he doesn’t surface, however, no one would have any idea of where he went. 

Would Egg assume that Wemmbu abandoned him after blowing up the empire?

Would Egg even survive on his own?

Wemmbu misses him—he hadn’t had much time to feel the lack of Egg’s presence before, but now that he has time with his thoughts, it strikes him worse than any physical blow. Egg would know what to do. He might be the worst fighter that Wemmbu has ever met, but he would find some sort of loophole, some way to minimize the damage here.

Egg’s thought process would start with their captor—Clownpierce. But Wemmbu’s already tried to determine some sort of weakness there, and he’s come back empty-handed. There’s no way to kill Clown, and even if he did manage to, it would be within the loop. Wemmbu isn’t sure how the whole thing works from the other end of the experiment, but his assumption is that Clown wouldn’t stay dead.

In which case, the solution is either a design flaw or a negotiation of some sort.

The loop resets for him after dying by anyone’s hand, leaving the confines of the empire, or getting hit by one of Clown’s arrows—though Wemmbu suspects that the arrows are simply for artistic flair. If this were the usual sort of time loop, where they got put into it for being shitty people or something, the way to get out would be “good deeds”, or self-improvement of some sort. That doesn’t feel like the way to go here with these circumstances, and besides, he’s not a bad person, so he can rule out that option entirely.

Zam interrupts his thinking with a deadpan, “Can you please just—”

“Shut up. Let me think.”

Where was he? Something about good deeds, but there’s no way in hell that’s going to get them both out of here. So, what else could get them out of a time loop? How is he supposed to break the time loop in the first place when the only two people he can interact with are involved with it as well?

If this is some sort of mental thing—it probably is—then substance abuse would cross Wemmbu’s mind, but impairing himself and Zam in any way worries him. 

Fine. Maybe there isn’t a design flaw, or a loophole of any sort. Then, what does Clownpierce want? Money, that much is apparent from the scheme he runs, killing any player for the right price. But if that was all, then why would he have trapped a paying customer in a fucked-up experiment, effectively losing any other money he would have made off of Zam?

There’s an ulterior motive here, right? Clown might be a sadistic guy, but it’s hard to believe he would do this to two of the most powerful players on the server simply for his own entertainment. If he was trying to get enjoyment out of this, he could have chosen just about anyone—or he could have taken Parrot and Wifies, who probably would have figured out the time loop within ten minutes. 

“Okay, wait, who else does Clownpierce work with?” Wemmbu asks aloud, stopping his pacing briefly. Lucky for him, one of the few people who would have any sort of idea about Clown’s allegiance is right in front of him.

Zam narrows his eyes, though it’s hard to tell if it’s because of suspicion, frustration, or the current downpour. “I mean…” He shrugs. “Not a whole lot of people. He mentioned some mafia thing, once or twice.”

A mafia? A fucking mafia?

“What? What mafia? Why am I just now hearing about this?”

“They’re not much of a threat, bro. As far as I know, it’s just, like, Ash and a few people who follow him around.” Zam rolls his eyes, and his indifference would be borderline-concerning if it wasn’t so infuriating. “What does this have to do with anything?”

“Clown didn’t have a problem with you before this—I mean, you guys worked together. He also didn’t have a problem with me… for the most part. Does it really make sense that he was just, like, pissed at the two of us and did this whole thing out of boredom? Isn’t that a little excessive?”

“...I mean, I guess. I don’t see how that matters, though. He might just be a fucked-up guy.”

Wemmbu scoffs. “Whatever. Can you stop brooding for a second and use your brain? If the mafia people really wanted us dead, they would have had Clown do that instead of playing these fuckass mind games. There’s more to this than meets the eye.” Funny how he’s the one who sounds smart now. Isn’t Zam supposed to be the logical one here?

Well, to be fair, it doesn’t really seem like Zam wants to escape this thing, which puts Wemmbu between a rock and a hard place. He’s trying to come up with a solution where there would be a much easier way out—to let Zam sacrifice himself so that his death can ‘mean something’ and be poetic or whatever. Seems like the coward’s way out, to Wemmbu. 

He, personally, would rather die on his feet, a sword in his hand. Wemmbu will not succumb to death, once it inevitably comes for him. He’ll raise his blade and go for a swing. 

So, suffice to say, he won’t just lay down and die here. And he’ll save Zam, if he can help it.

The only obvious way to bargain his way out of death is to get right to the source. “Okay, legit question, if I say ‘Clownpierce’ three times, will he appear?”

Zam replies wryly, “That’s Beetlejuice, bro.”

“I dunno, I think they look pretty similar—”

“If you’re trying to negotiate with me, that’s a horrible way to start,” Clownpierce himself cuts in, having materialized out of thin air, like always. As one does.

Wemmbu opts to act like he didn’t just get startled by the sudden appearance, feigning as much nonchalance as one can muster in such a situation. “Hi, Clownpierce. I—”

“You do know that you don’t have to try to barter with me, right?” Clown gestures to Zam offhandedly, not even sparing a glance towards him. “This one’s about as suicidal as it gets. You can make it out with your life, and it wouldn’t even be involuntary on Zam’s part.”

Of course Wemmbu knows that. He’s not any sort of empath in the least, but it’s pretty apparent that Zam would sign his own death warrant without blinking an eye. Especially if there was some sort of perk tied to it—that being, in this situation, that Wemmbu would get to live.

That’s a last resort. He’s not giving in unless there’s no other way both of them get out of this.

Wemmbu ignores the bait. “What I’m hearing is that you’re open to negotiations.”

“Sure. Though, I have to admit, it doesn’t seem like either of you have much to offer me,” Clown replies with a lazy shrug. 

That’s a start—well, kind of. It would be a fair assumption that Clown is only humoring him for his own entertainment, rather than any sort of interest in whatever it is that Wemmbu could give him. The most important part of this sort of thing is getting the time of day, though. Zam would be much better at the talking than Wemmbu will be, but he doesn’t seem all that interested in saving his own life—in all honesty, he looks bored, arms crossed over his chest as he aimlessly looks up at the rainclouds above.

“So,” Wemmbu starts, trying to piece together his thoughts into… something. “You’re involved with Ashswag’s mafia, right?”

“More or less.”

This whole thing might be a long shot—Wemmbu doesn’t even know for sure if this so-called mafia is even involved in this. But it’s better to go out on a limb with this theory, rather than just give up.

“Yeah, so with people like us, who can actually fight, we’re of more value to you alive than dead. It would be in your best interest to… like, induct one of us into the mafia instead of letting us both go in one way or another.” He’s pleasantly surprised at how coherent the sales pitch sounds. “That way, you gain more from this than just… petty entertainment.”

Clown is either feigning interest to give Wemmbu false hope, or he’s genuinely considering it. His brows are furrowed slightly, and for once, there’s at least one thought behind those eyes, because it seems like he’s doing mental calculations.

After a few seconds of Wemmbu standing there dumbly in the rain, Clown replies, “Hypothetically… how do I know you wouldn’t just escape? The invis mafia does need people who can fight, but Ash has no way of keeping them in check if they aren’t there willingly.”

Wemmbu hadn’t really thought that far ahead—he’d kind of just taken the mafia theory and ran with it. He hadn’t even expected to get this far. What should he say, like, a contract of some sort? If someone leaves this mafia thing, there’s a bounty on their head?

Surprisingly, it’s Zam who answers. Wemmbu didn’t even think he was listening. “You could have a stasis chamber mechanism,” he offers thoughtfully. “Make the person throw a pearl into a stasis. If it’s built a certain way, when you pull the stasis, the person’s teleported into the void.”

Wemmbu isn’t all that sure how Zam came up with that, but it’s a welcome suggestion if it might get them out. Of course, he wouldn’t want to be confined to such a thing, but Zam was the one who put it out there, and he would be the one joining the mafia thing if Clownpierce agreed to this.

“Hm. That’s… not a bad idea.” Clown pauses, and that moment feels like an eternity. Would he really give up, after all this time, that easily? All along, had the solution truly been in this? “Fine. Fine, I’ll let you both live, but one of you has to join the mafia.”

“I’ll do it.” Zam’s answer is immediate, without an ounce of hesitation.

Wemmbu protests, “Hey, wait, you don’t get to just—”

Zam shoots a glare at him, then glances back to Clown. “So, how does this work now? You just… let us out of the time loop?”

“Well, wait a minute, Zam. I hear some dissension. Wemmbu?” Clownpierce tilts his head at him, innocuous as could be. More than likely, he’s trying to stir some shit up because he knows his fun is over soon enough.

Really, Wemmbu ought to be happy that neither of them have been sentenced to death. But is this solution that much better? If Zam’s tied to an underground mafia of some sort for the foreseeable future, isn’t that arguably worse than just dying now? Reluctantly, after wrestling with the idea of letting this be for a few moments, he concedes. Wemmbu shakes his head, under the weight of two separate stares. “Nah. That’s good with me. Are you gonna let us out, or what?”

Is it that easy? Wemmbu wants it to be, but this might be too good to be true. Maybe this really is how the experiment ends—anticlimactically, with no repercussions on Wemmbu’s part other than the trauma of the experience itself.

“I guess.” Clownpierce has his bow out again, an arrow nocked within a fraction of a second. “Congratulations, really.” The tone of his voice suggests that he doesn’t mean it whatsoever. 

~ 𖤓 ~

Zam feels the collision of hitting the ground as forcefully as if he’d jumped off of something, pitching forward and narrowly catching himself on the slippery rock.

“Well, nothing feels different,” Wemmbu announces, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Did we get scammed?”

Zam glances up at where his palace had been, much of it decimated by the orbital strike, though the majority of the tallest turret remains. Faintly, intertwined with the rest of the loops, Zam remembers trudging up those stairs, looking down on his empire. He remembers the hopelessness of knowing that his great masterpiece was no more, that he would be rightfully abandoned by his people, that there was nothing left for him to do.

More importantly, he remembers stepping off. A sort of feeling that could have been freedom, before he’d hit the ground. In those moments of being airborne, having accepted his fate—or perhaps not fate, since he’d brought it upon himself—even though he’d been quietly resigned, there was no sense of satisfaction as he’d thought there would be. No sense of having done what had been necessary.

But, oddly enough, he has a second chance.

“I swear to God, if we have to go through this whole thing again, I’ll—”

Zam’s voice is quiet, but absolutely certain. “No, I think we’re out.”

Wemmbu turns to him, and his expression suspiciously resembles one of disappointment. “Even if we are, I can’t believe you would just—” He shies away from actually saying it, instead making a vague, rather disgusted gesture with his hands. “I mean, seriously…”

“What, try to sacrifice myself?” Zam shrugs. “I’m surprised you didn’t go along with it.”

Maybe it had been some indication of character growth on Wemmbu’s part, that he’d shed the opportunistic mindset he’d had before, where he’d valued himself and his vengeance over everything else, bulldozing over everything in his path to further his own agenda. To think that he hadn’t allowed Zam to die, even though it permitted Wemmbu to live by consequence, was rather mind-boggling considering how adamant he’d been in killing Zam before.

Or maybe it wasn’t an indication of anything, just that Clownpierce’s experiment had worked, in making both of them tolerate—and, fine, maybe even care about—the other.

Wemmbu raises an eyebrow at that. “Of course I didn’t go along with it. I didn’t want to go along with putting you in the mafia, either, but you insisted, so…”

“If it was between you or me, I have a better chance of surviving that kind of thing. Besides, there’s no way that mafia’s gonna last a week. I have a hard time believing that Ashswag can keep that sort of thing together.”

“Alright, bro. Whatever you say.”

In all honesty, Zam isn’t completely sure what comes next. Time-wise, they’re close to when a loop would have ended by default—aren’t they? Then again, it’s not like any of the loops really took that long. Zam’s sense of time is absolutely, positively fucked. But the sun’s setting. He only recalls one other loop where he’d survived to this time of day, because in that one, he’d watched the sunset from a tower.

This time, they’re not particularly high up, so the view isn’t as good as it had been from that turret, but Zam wordlessly walks over to the where the rock ends and sits down, legs dangling off the edge. 

In the other direction, where the clouds have begun to clear, the sky could be painted in watercolor—warm hues of orange and pink, fading into blue. Where sky meets sea, the water is tinted to match, though the rain continues to create ripples on its surface. It’s easy to ignore the wreckage in the other direction when such an ethereal sight stands before him.

At some point, Wemmbu sits down beside him, though Zam supposes it’s likely a reluctant move on his part. “Bro, you can’t be serious,” he mutters, but he doesn’t protest any further. Maybe, just like Zam, he’s relieved to have a reprieve from the constant fighting. Though the physical fatigue didn’t carry over throughout the loops, the mental attrition certainly did.

They sit in a comfortable silence, watching as the sun dips below the horizon, and the sky finally clears into what would have been a pleasant, busy night in Zam Empire. In fact, it’s odd, to be gazing out at the same sky as always, but for it to be so different. The skyline is clear, devoid of any air traffic. Rather than the usual noise of a night like this, the empire is devoid of any activity. 

Regardless of the bittersweet nature of his nostalgia, Zam feels more sane than he has in a long while—it’s much easier to think when the rain isn’t pounding incessantly on one’s armor. He’s able to simply sit there and breathe, process everything that has happened; but his peace is short-lived.

“Congratulations.”

It’s not Clown this time. Arguably, this is worse.

Zam pushes himself to his feet and turns around in near-unison with Wemmbu, though the latter already has one hand on his sword. Zam knows that a weapon will do him no good—not with Ashswag. He’d understated the danger that the mafia posed, when he’d described it to Wemmbu, but really, the invisible mafia has been a logistical nightmare for the Zam Empire for a while now. 

They’ve been taking down entire civilizations and kingdoms, so Zam has been hearing—an amount that’s hardly insignificant—and even though they never went for Zam Empire, really, they never had the chance. 

Players have been joining their ranks at an alarming rate, willingly, as not to be in their way. In fact, Zam allying himself with Clownpierce had partially been a political move to get in the good graces of the mafia. He’d heard that Clown worked closely with Ash, and since Zam had needed an assassin to take care of Parrot anyway, both problems had practically solved themselves, in theory.

Until now. Parrot managed to evade death time after time, Zam Empire is destroyed, and now, Zam will have to join the mafia to save his own skin.

Congratulations, Ashswag said.

Clearly, he shares Clownpierce’s flair for theatrics.

He’s just standing there, arms crossed in an overexaggeration of his own importance, two invisible guards on either side of him—the ones closest to him wear chestplates with diamond trims, while the ones on the edges have gold trims. Zam has a vague idea that it’s some sort of hierarchy system within the mafia.

“On what?” Zam prompts him, because this would surely be the opening to some sort of dramatic monologue about him being the mastermind behind the whole experiment.

“On picking the right side. I mean, this—” Ash makes a vague gesture to the wreckage around them, as if it doesn’t speak for itself. “—this is pitiful. Wouldn’t have lasted much longer, anyway, but I wish I could’ve been the one to do it. Hats off to you, Wemmbu.”

“Uh—thanks.” He shoots a glance at Zam, as if to say, ‘You told me this mafia thing wasn’t a big deal’. Zam keeps his eyes forward, on Ash—best not to look away from someone so unpredictable.

“In fact, I’m so impressed that I’ll make you an offer.” Ashswag pauses. “I think that you would be really useful in the mafia.”

Wemmbu genuinely starts laughing, and Zam has to forcibly restrain himself from hitting him. Neither of them have the resources or the will to take a fight against the literal mafia. “Bro, really? You think I want to join your little cult?”

“You’re going to wish you did, when we have control over the whole server.” Ash turns his attention to Zam, who would step back to put distance between them if there weren’t a drop-off right behind him. “PrinceZam, you are making the right investment. I would expect no less from the leader of a respectable empire.”

“Well,” Wemmbu cuts in with a scoff. “It wasn’t really a choice—”

Zam gives him a look. No, it hadn’t been a choice, but this is the only way to ensure his survival. Is he really all that keen on joining the mafia, or, for that matter, having to lead a life without his empire? Being under Ashswag’s command, a follower, rather than the ruler he’s meant to be? Not really.

He clears his throat. “Ash, I look forward to joining.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Now, come with me.”

Zam nods, more to himself than to Ashswag, and looks back at Wemmbu one last time. “Try not to get yourself killed.” 

“I’ll try, bro.” Wemmbu smiles. The whole thing feels bittersweet, in a way that no other interaction with Wemmbu, no other resolution of a loop, has. Maybe it’s because these very well may be the last words they ever speak to one another. Maybe it’s because the two of them have shared an experience that no one else will understand, and there’s a sort of bond that forms within that specific genre of suffering.  “...Thank you.”

“Go find Egg.”

And he follows Ashswag and his guards without another word—off to what he figures will be his damnation, in one way or another.

Chapter Text

~ 𖤓 ~

“What if we can’t make a decision?” Wemmbu had asked.

“Lucky for you, there’s no time limit. Presumably, either you two sit here until the end of time, or I get bored and murder you both.”

Zam isn’t sure how long it’s been. Long enough that Wemmbu decided to stop pacing an hour or two ago, supposedly having given up on trying to formulate an escape plan, and Zam himself has been laying down in the rain desperately grasping for whatever scraps of rest he can get (which is none, thus far, but one can hope).

Wemmbu says, again, in a series of what has to be upwards of ten times, “I mean, there has to be another way—”

“Shut up. Let me sleep.”

“Whatever, bro.”

Hours tick by, or maybe minutes. What’s the difference, anyway, in a time loop? Or, is this even a time loop? Usually, with those, you have to live through the full day without dying, and then you realize that the day keeps repeating. This, on the other hand, is just some perverse sort of torture. The sort of descent into madness seen in classic literature, where the audience collectively scoffs at the characters and says, ‘I would never do that’, listing off a myriad of ways that the issue could have been avoided.

Unfortunately, the thing with said mental deterioration—Zam can attest to this—is that the victim tends to see the situation from their own distorted lens, rather than that of an observer who is mentally well. After all, it is much easier to see the end of a labyrinth when observing from above, rather than from the heart of the puzzle.

In all honesty, Zam isn’t all that sure what either of them are looking to get out of sitting here (other than the philosophical nonsense that his brain is spewing out instead of any possible solution). Maybe, after a little longer, they can make a decision and be done with this once and for all. Preferably, Wemmbu will find the sense to save himself, because he has much more to return to than Zam.

All he has is a broken empire, and a handful of guards that might have moved on to more tempting positions elsewhere soon enough anyway, even if Wemmbu hadn’t blown the place to smithereens.

So it isn’t a very big leap to offer that he should be the one to sacrifice himself. This experiment might as well be his own personal hell anyway, so Zam doesn’t think it gets much worse than this.

“Oh, this is pathetic.”

It appears Zam had spoken too soon. It can get worse than this.

What Clownpierce could possibly want now, Zam doesn’t know. But he knows this—it can’t be good. Maybe he’s here to announce some new, eternal torment he’s going to test out on his beloved lab rats; of course, the mind tends to turn to the worst when subjected to horrors such as being at the mercy of a callous overlord.

“I thought you said there was no time limit,” Zam retorts as he pulls himself to his feet.

“When I said that, I wasn’t anticipating that you two would just…” Clown gives him a judgemental once-over. “Give up. Though, with you, I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised.”

Zam shrugs. “I don’t know what you expected.”

For what might be the first time, Clownpierce looks genuinely irritated. “Wemmbu.” He says it like a threat. It might very well be one. “Last chance. Otherwise, for my own sanity, I’m going to have to end this for you.”

“You won’t kill both of us.” Wemmbu says it matter-of-factly, when in reality, Zam wouldn’t put it past Clown to do exactly that. They’re playing with a complete wild card here, who’s acting on both his own boredom and likely some sort of financial incentive from an unspecified source—the aforementioned source likely being the up-and-coming invisible mafia, but that’s just a hunch. 

Honestly, rather than suffering any further, Zam would almost rather provoke Clownpierce into killing him; he would have done that already if Wemmbu’s life was not also on the line.

Clown heaves a sigh of exasperation, which is funny, because he has no right to be exasperated. “Fine. Fine, whatever.” To Zam’s horror, he’s who Clownpierce turns to next. “Zam, you remember that your guards are at my mercy, right? FlameFrags, Pangi, all of them. Maybe you’re fine sacrificing yourself, but if you die, you’re sacrificing them, too. How about that?” The impatience in his tone is evident. He wouldn’t hesitate to slaughter innocent people just for the sake of doing so. He came up with this solution on the fly, for his own sick entertainment.

Zam wishes he could say that Clown is lying, but he has a sneaking suspicion that isn’t the case—at the beginning of the experiment, his guards had disappeared one by one. And, hadn’t Clownpierce asked some cryptic question about Zam wondering where his guards were? He wouldn’t have done that, unless he really has been planning to hold them over Zam’s head this entire time in case they reached a stalemate.

Well, shit. This isn’t as clear-cut as it had been before—Zam was content sacrificing himself if it meant Wemmbu lived through this, but if other lives are at stake, that certainly muddles the waters. These are all people that have been nothing but dedicated to Zam, having vowed to protect him with their lives, and they’ve done just that. How could he punish them for their loyalty? How could he condemn his own personal guards to their deaths, just so that his reluctant ally, or more accurately, long-standing nemesis, gets to live through this?

“What the hell—”

Clown shushes Wemmbu when he pipes up, but he keeps his intent gaze on Zam—he has to know that he’s backed Zam into a corner impossible to get out of unscathed. “I already gave you the chance to change your fate, Wemmbu. Now, it’s in Zam’s hands. He gets to decide.”

He gets to decide.

It’s not as if Zam has never chosen to have anyone executed before, or put anyone into a chunkban to keep them out of his way, or killed anyone himself—he has. However, this choice may hold more weight than all of those situations combined. This choice that Zam himself has to make, for the good of his empire… or, what little is left of it.

If Zam wants to be a hero, he can choose to save himself—and by extension, all of his former guards. He isn’t sure how that would end for him, or if it would really be worth it to save himself, but he isn’t certain that he would be able to live with himself either way. 

The most horrific part of Zam possibly freeing himself would be the remembering. He would live however much longer, the guilt eating at him, because he’d sentenced to death the most indisputably alive person he had ever met. Someone who could have set unimaginable records and inspired millions, someone who could have caused irreparable damage and done it unapologetically.

And Zam himself would never be able to find someone who could understand any of it—not the time loop, nor the crux of it, nor the immeasurable cost of his survival.

On the other hand, the easy way out would be to sacrifice both himself and his guards, and be done with it—Zam would deal with no repercussions, no guilt. He will have saved a possible psychopath, but maybe the aforementioned psychopath has changed for the better. Zam will emerge as something of a martyr for believing in Wemmbu’s redemption.

On second thought—really, he wouldn’t emerge as anything at all. What makes him think that Wemmbu would carry on his legacy in any manner? Zam would be effectively wiped away, every remnant of his empire with him, and no one would have any indication of where he had gone. No one except Wemmbu—and would he really have all that much gratitude towards Zam? Or would it be more of something to brag about—that he’d somehow manipulated his enemy into sacrificing himself so that Wemmbu would live?

Zam will make the wrong decision either way.

He wishes he could ask to sacrifice himself—to let everyone else live. Is that so much to ask?

But it is. Of course it is, because Clownpierce knows that’s the only choice that Zam would want to make, and so that’s not an option. He holds the fate of too many people in the palm of his hand, and he holds the authority to make a decision this immense for what he suspects will be the last time.

He just wishes he didn’t have to look anyone in the eyes.
“I’m sorry, Wemmbu.”

Zam can’t restrain himself from throwing one last glance in his direction. A friend, an enemy, an ally. Call him sentimental, but even though he knows that Wemmbu would make the same choice, it hurts in a way that he can hardly put into words. It hurts like a stab directly to the heart, like writing one last note to your beloved before the pills kick in: knowing the outcome but being powerless to stop it. Of course, this is how the time loop would conclude. One final, cataclysmic mistake on Zam’s part. A pyrrhic victory—survival.

But at what cost?

Before Zam tears his gaze away from Wemmbu’s, he sees a moment of shock, then a resigned sort of anger. He wishes he hadn’t looked. He wishes that he still hated Wemmbu for destroying everything he once held dear. That would make this infinitely easier.

“So, what choice are you making, Zam?” Clownpierce asks, as if it isn’t obvious. He probably just wants his lab rats to despair as much as possible before he releases one and ends the other’s life. 

“I’m—going to save myself.” He stumbles on the words slightly—they won’t come out quite right. They’re wrong. He’s making the wrong decision.

Before the arrow is nocked, Zam exchanges one last look with Wemmbu. He hardly even looks hurt.

But Zam betrayed him, again. Zam had only just regained his trust, and now, to think that he had lost it all… lost Wemmbu, after everything…

There’s a tight feeling in Zam’s chest, an ache that he doesn’t think will ever go away.

His vision is blurring of its own volition, and Wemmbu isn’t saying anything, and Zam doesn’t think he made the right choice. Wemmbu, for once, has nothing to say, and Zam wishes that he would go on one of his mindless rants or start screaming at Zam or something. The worst part is that something in Zam won’t let him speak to take it back. He can’t even apologize again.

Wemmbu just stands there, and really, more than anything, he looks tired. It’s that expression—the uncharacteristic acceptance of his own death in his final moments, that will haunt Zam forever. That’s the last of Wemmbu that Zam ever sees.

He looks away before the arrow strikes Wemmbu in the forehead. Zam only sees the slightest spatter of blood, a collapse into midair, and then Wemmbu vanishes. No evidence of his existence except hearsay, except the mark that he made on the server: and nothing will do Wemmbu justice. There is no description that could possibly put into words the unstoppable force that was Wemmbu.

Unstoppable. It’s laughable, really, that Zam had thought it impossible for his nemesis to ever be defeated. How wrong he’d been.

He doesn’t even think Wemmbu had said any last words. Maybe Wemmbu hadn’t thought Zam worthy to pass on any final wishes he’d had. Maybe he was right in thinking that.

Sobs wrack his body before long. Zam doesn’t remember the last time he’s cried, but he knows that he’s pathetic for doing so now. It’s just—he’s tried so hard, he’s given everything he had so that both of them would survive, so that Wemmbu would survive, but he’d failed. He’d chosen to save his guards, and himself. Himself. Has there ever been such a selfish feat? Has there ever been such a person so impeccably unworthy of survival?

Why the hell did he do this? He chose wrong. He had tried to be a hero, and he should have known that it would do him no good—Zam is no hero. He might try to do the right thing, but no part of him is good. He’s a failure, and a sorry excuse for a king. He’s nothing.

Of course, in such situations as these, where someone as prone to self-destructive tendencies as Zam is spiraling, something else can always go wrong. In this case, it does, but not in the way that one might expect.

“Congratulations,” Zam hears. The voice is sinister, unfamiliar in tone, but nevertheless known to Zam. He knows Ashswag—what person in power, on this server, wouldn’t?

His mafia has been taking down entire civilizations and kingdoms, so Zam has been hearing—an amount that’s hardly insignificant—and even though they never went for Zam Empire, really, they never had the chance. 

Players have been joining their ranks at an alarming rate, willingly, as not to be in their way. In fact, Zam allying himself with Clownpierce had partially been a political move to get in the good graces of the mafia. He’d heard that Clown worked closely with Ash, and since Zam had needed an assassin to take care of Parrot anyway, both problems had practically solved themselves, in theory.

None of his political moves even slightly matter now, though. Any work Zam had done to prolong the duration of his empire’s prosperity have been rendered useless by a myriad of strikes from an orbital cannon.

Though it’s hard to be all that bitter when he’d just ordered the death of the person who’d caused the aforementioned ruination of his empire.

“On what?” He chokes out. Zam is hesitant to ask why Ashswag is congratulating him on his survival of the experiment, especially when Ash almost certainly had a hand in putting him and Wemmbu in it in the first place.

Ash smiles—the type of grin that a politician will flash at you just before he enacts a policy opposing everything he claimed to believe in. The type of grin that contains an undeniable air of overly-triumphant gloating—an unspoken ‘I’ve already won’. “On your survival, of course. You know, Zam, I was hoping you would be the one to make it out alive.” He makes an open gesture, and it draws Zam’s eye to Ashswag’s entourage: two invisible guards on either side of him, complete with gold or diamond-trimmed chestplates. Some sort of hierarchy within the mafia, Zam supposes. “In fact, I have an offer for you.”

…What? Zam doesn’t think this could mean anything good. “Go on,” he prompts Ash. He might as well hear this out—it’s not like Zam has any allegiance to anyone as of right now, or any sort of direction other than perhaps wanting to reunite with some of his royal guard. 

Inherently, in this state, Zam is most vulnerable; after all, he’s spiraling, and uncertain in all aspects.

“PrinceZam, I see myself in you.” He lets this absurd sentence marinate for a few moments—‘Where is he going with this?’Zam wonders—before continuing, “You are hungry for power; so much so that you managed to form this—” Ashswag looks to be restraining himself from laughing as he makes a grand gesticulation to the empire ruins all around them. “—formerly prosperous empire. It may not look like much now, but I see potential in your leadership.” He actually doesn’t give Zam the chance to reply; he goes on. “This could be the dawn of something never before seen on this server. You would have real power in the mafia, command over armies, not something as superficial as what you built here. If you joined me, you would be invincible, untouchable to your enemies.” Ashswag finally finishes, a gleam in his eye that reeks of arrogance.

Invincible.

Untouchable.

Words that Zam had once associated with Wemmbu. The irony is not lost on him.

Unfortunately, part of what he’s saying is alluring to someone who has just gotten his entire life’s work destroyed. The promise of power—control over invisible players that would obey his every command—whispers to him like nothing else can. This is his purpose on the server, is it not? He can right his prior wrongs; he can make sure that he retains a position of power this time.

“What would you have me do?” Zam inquires hesitantly, but he already recognizes that he’ll agree to whatever it is. Succumbing to Ashswag’s manipulation should be below him, and he knows that, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Besides, Ash was right. He is hungry for power, and he doubts that he can be satiated by anything but this offer—inherently, it is this, or his own sweet demise.

Ashswag grins again, and Zam faintly realizes that he may have just sold his soul to the devil.

~ ↻ ~