Chapter Text
His bed felt uncomfortable, sleep refused to cooperate with him, he couldn't find the correct position to sleep in. Even after a month, everything felt wrong, repulsive and vulnerable.
Each sleeping position is shit. He's honestly considering being a vampire instead.
On his back, stomach, side, everything floods him with memories of something that makes him wetter than it should.
When the shine of the morning sun came, burning his eyes, he didn’t get a wink of sleep. Had simply laid in bed all night, because nothing was satisfying. Nothing would get the image- the feeling out of his mind. So what’d he do? Well, the next worst thing of course.
Realistically, he would've been out of the bath half an hour ago, yet he's just sitting here, in boiling water that still doesn't feel hot enough.
It's not difficult to clean himself. He's not depressed, nor is he a gaming chair-rotting incel.
It's just..
Every day. This stupid cycle repeats every day.
Changing clothes, bathing, switching armour sets, sleeping.
This became a daily occurrence, the most annoying, shittiest thing ever.
It was agonising, the way he’d feel his back hurt from being hunched over, water dripped from his dreads as he stared at the reflection of himself. Really, Flame wanted to kill it. He wanted to do a lot of things. Most of them he couldn't do. Unless he got that ancient man to revoke his demonic nature, return him to a human, a creature of the highest level of basicness.
Leaning back, he raised his head, letting it fall limp to stare at the ceiling instead.
One thing he wanted was the removal of the stain on his body. He traced the letters carved into his abdomen.
(“Egg gave this to me a while back.. Supposedly, it can bypass regeneration and keep scars.”)
Blood dyes the water red as his claws dig into the area. He doesn't even know why he does it, he's tried previously. Even if he rips out the skin entirely, once it regenerates, the name ‘CRUCIBLE' remains engraved into his skin.
He can't help it though, there's nothing he learns for more than to get this shit off of him. This mockery. He knew his rival was dishonourable, that was always a point of tension between them. Though, as much as Flame disagreed with such fighting styles, it never stopped him from acknowledging Wemmbu as an.. equal.
But this… this is just.. it's a low he didn't think Wemmbu would go to. Didn't think he'd actually kind of like it either.
He almost doesn't want to do this, to bathe. Maybe he'd rather be like an incel.
Anything would be better than feeling their hands on him every time he scrubs. Better than acknowledging the painful emptiness in him his body keeps nagging him about.
Unfortunately, he isn't like Derapchu, he has to actually clean himself. Meaning, gritting his teeth, sucking it up, and pretending it's okay what he's doing. Its own hands after all, his own. There's no reason for him to be so utterly terrified of himself like this when this is all Wemmbu's fault.
Disgusting.
‘The Strongest’, yeah? ‘The Immortal Demon'? Yet he got raped by his rival crush of all people.
Wemmbu jumped him and dowsed him in weakness. It wasn't fair. It wasn’t honourable. It was disgusting.
But it happened. Nothing can change the fact he has fucking ‘CRUCIBLE' on him permanently.
‘GAMBIT’ too, once he got home, he then found out that within the week he lost consciousness, the little shit carved that name on his back as well. Along with a ‘:]’ on his thigh, he now has three permanent marks of Unstable’s ‘mOsT pOwERfUl PlAYer' on him.
It doesn't help how his rival keeps messaging him like shits normal or something.
They're just going along with life while Flame's just here.
Weak.
He still replied—of course, he replied. As though it was just another day. Wemmbu was still his rival after all, the last thing he’s doing is letting them get more of a high from knowing they affected him mentally.
.
.
.
Taking a few steps back, Flame spun around in the mirror, though it lacked his usual enthusiasm. He feels pretty, he likes the look, there's nothing wrong. Hell, this is probably one of his best outfits to date.
(“Well how else did you expect me to react with how much you've been teasing me?” )
Yet still, he doesn't even know why he entertained putting this on. This stupid purple and pink dress, magical girl styled, it’s cute. Reminds him of Madoka if she had more purple. Then again, she has Homura for that.
(“Y’know, I didn't think the FlameFrags would have eyes this cute. I didn't ever imagine you being a femboy either. It's a pleasant surprise y’know?”)
A tease. He teased Wemmbu. By what? Wearing a dress. A purple dress got him drugged and raped for a week by a dragon in rut. By a stupid, dumb fucking dragon that Flame can't even lie and say he craved to kill.
There was a time where he'd say he hated Wemmbu over mundane things like if he stole his gear or something. Now, he gets sexually assaulted by the guy, can't even sleep or shower correctly anymore and somehow that doesn't cross the line enough to warrant hatred?
He purses his lips, “What the fuck is wrong with me bro?” Where did the wires get so crossed on his head for this?
Clenching his fists, he began undoing all the buttons and ribbons. He can't wear this, he won't. Yet just as quick as he began, he ceased the movement. Does he really want to remove it? Just for that reason? This took so long to put on and dressing up is his hobby, it's always been since he was a kid and Mane took him to a clothing store one time and he immediately knew what he wanted to wear.
Is he really going to let Wemmbu ruin this for him?
Besides, if Wemmbu kept that bloody, cum-stained dress.. He obviously thought Flame looked good in it.
Ruby-gold eyes flicker from the neck ribbon to the reflection in the mirror. So pretty ain't he? When he's not covered in guts and stinking of iron.
(“So gorgeous. Ever considered being a model? Such a waste.”)
Of course, he remembers that now. One of the days leading up to his assault, he was walking through Merchant City, making his regular restock rounds, wearing a cute ouji styled outfit minding his business, he didnt even get into a fight that day! It was great. Then, some guy, a chungy wearing goddamn chainmail decided to ruin it, approaching him and started talking–just saying shit that went in one ear and out the other.
Or at least he thought. Considering his brain brought that chainmail wearing guy up again.
Wish he knew where that guy got the balls to tell that to him of all people, especially just wearing scraps of chainmail with nothing but a wooden axe. Flame needs to find his provider, find if the shit works on demons.
He didn't care, had no reason to. It's the same old shit he's heard since childhood. Same shit Mane told him not to listen to.
He doesn't listen to chungies.
Flame would say he doesn't listen to anyone other than Mane and Lomedy, but Yahweh knows that's a lie. And the demon doesn't use that old man's name lightly.
Every single ribbon was redone in record time, hands falling to smooth out his skirt. He smiled at himself, at the end of the day, he'll always be The Immortal Demon. Doesn't matter what happened. No weakness potion, or scars, or fat fucking dragon dicks will ever change that.
Wemmbu won't change that.
The day he left the dragon's base was a blur. He got a bucket of milk from Egg and was finally, finally able to to cleanse himself of the ache, the bites, everything. Except the work of that damn knife.
The farmer was irritated after he returned a week late with no context. He quieted down after Flame lied and told him that he got looped into some elaborate bandit scheme. Shitty lie but Flame has a habit of getting into a lot of tomfoolery so after making up random details, he somehow gaslit the bunny into believing it.
When asked about why he reeked of Wemmbu? Well, he also made something up about that. Wemmbu, also notorious for getting up to some bullshit, was also there because he was scammed by the bandits and you know Wemmbu, he just had to get revenge or whatever. Some shit like that… He doesn't even know what exactly he said.
Just that Lomedy believed it, which was all that mattered.
Gentle ruffling sounds contradicted the heavy thud of a box of carrots Lomedy just dropped with an exhausted huff while his tiger curled up on the couch watching him. In the past, Flame would be helping him but lately he's been feeling lazy, real lazy.
Repeatedly, he rubbed his thighs together, both his tails tucked between them. They need the warmth, they've been cooler than normal. Even his furry tiger tail feels the lack of heat.
He doesn't know the day the world started getting so.. cold? Alright, maybe not cold per say but it's cool. And you know the fucking temperature drop is bad when even Flame can feel it, he can't even feel winter.
Although apparently, he's the only one who's been feeling it because according to Lomedy, he's crazy.
Well, the bunny didn't call him crazy but he said Flame must be getting sick which is essentially the same thing.
“Bro like.. you sure there's not something going on with the weather?”
“Flame- bro. You can't even feel winter biomes. Imagine the climate catastrophe that'd need to happen to get you to feel cold.” Lomedy empties another couple stacks of carrots into the sorting hoppers, readjusting his gardening gloves. “If you're cold, it's definitely something wrong with you.” He looks him up and down, “Which is just as terrifying… Do demons get sick often?”
“I can't get sick dude.” Demonic illnesses aren't impossible but they aren't likely. There's only so much that could get a hellborn sick, and he doubts it'd be in the fucking Overworld of all places. It'd probably be in Heaven or one of the other Celestial realms.
Tilting his head, Lomedy stared at him with a sigh, getting back to collecting his other crops. “You’ve been skipping meals too. It wouldn't be a surprise.” He grumbled. Yeah, Loms hasn't been all too happy with him for that but in Flame's defence, he just cannot stand most of the foods around anymore.
… And the one thing he does crave isn't something Lomedy would approve of. “Brooo. Let's not talk about that right now.” It's easier for all of them to not bring up that topic, he's been doing so well at dodging it since he first started avoiding meals.
It's been going on for a week? Two? Whatever Lomedy would be somewhere in the kitchen, making lunch for them both. Lunch that he most likely will not eat, but Lomedy won't listen and insist he should anyway. Usually he lets up and just eats to make Loms happy despite the nausea it causes him. He always pukes it out later in the day anyway. He just can't keep food down lately, most of the stuff he likes is so off-putting now, he can't stomach it. And he's eaten Sharpness’ cooking without vomiting.
Though, despite being disgusted by every food in sight, Flame's been real hungry. Two things one that should probably contradict but it's true. The only word he can use to describe the levels of hunger would be ‘ManePear’.
“You know what? We should talk about it. It matters.” Loms pulled off his dirt-caked gloves, along with his gardening apron and boots. The couch dipped beside him as his duo sat down, immediately poking and prodding him, to which Flame wordlessly leaned down to make it easier despite being confused.
“... What are you doing?”
“Checking your temperature.”
His other hand patted the demon's head, almost making him purr. Lomedy stiffened momentarily, keeping the back of his hand to Flame's neck. “.. Wait Flame, are you calm right now?”
“Really calm. I'm not like upset or anything bro. Why?”
“Well, you actually dropped in temperature.” Awe and concern laced his voice, “Bro is that uh. Normal? For your temperature to change when you're not feeling anything?”
Flame frowned, “No? Bro you sure it’s me?” He brushed his friend's hand away, to which Lomedy frowned in return.
“Bro I’m serious. You're not as burning as usual.” An uneasy expression fell on his face, hand on his head while he mumbled, “Lower temperature, avoiding foods, being lazy, not visiting the training grounds in a month— Holy shit, Flame you’re sick.” Despite it coming out of his mouth, Lomedy required a few more seconds to truly register what he just said. Once he did, he literally sprang off the chair, pointing at the cat “You. Are sick. Oh my god.”
Protests bubbled up, threatening to spill but seeing Lomedy genuinely start pacing around the room with his head in his hands shut him up quickly.
“Bro I'm gonna die—if you're sick, whatever's in the air will cook me. And- how do we even cure you? There's barely any medicine compatible with normal hybrids, far less a celestial.”
… He's right.
If he is sick, that's a pain. There's likely nothing in the Overworld that can cure celestial beings. Meaning he'd have to go allllll the way through the Nether, get to the Gates of Damnation, then into Hell itself and navigate all the fuckass layers—all for a cure he may not find by the way—and then do the whole trip again to get back to the Overworld.
Yeah no he's not doing allat for an illness that'll (hopefully) pass in a couple weeks or months anyway. There's a reason he doesn't visit Hell.
“Uh. Well, on the bright side. If it got me and you're not sick yet, it's probably not an Overworlder thing.”
“Better hope that's true.” Lomedy, already in work-mode, begins digging through the boxes, inspecting and purposefully picking out certain carrots, potatoes and other ingredients that'd make a five year old child recoil.
“... What are you doing?”
“What does it look like? I'm gonna make you soup dude.” Never had the tiger tensed so fast.
“Oh hell no.” The idea itself had Flame gagging, rabbit sticks and fungi beds are the last on the list of things he desires at the moment. “Lomedy have mercy. It's a waste, I'll throw it up.”
“Well, we'll find something that doesn't make you throw up. I'm not letting you skip meals anymore. You're sick, therefore you're eating. I don't care.” He throws a carrot that Flame catches with a speed that surpasses any mortal yet it just upset the already irritated farmer more.
It was fast, yeah.
But it wasn't FlameFrags fast.
The Immortal Demon is ill. Lord, they're so fried. Who knows, maybe this is god's punishment to him for all the players he's banned.
“Hopefully, you don’t get worse and it won't spread to me too. For now.. Let’s get started on that soup.”
“Can I at least get pork in it bro?”
The skeptical look he gets is deserved given he never ate pork before, usually avoided the stuff. “You want to eat pork?” Okay, something’s definitely wrong with him.
Untucking his tails, the demon frowned, feeling the cool again. “Not really but it's closest to what I do want, so yeah?”
“Alrightttt. Let’s go to the kitchen. And, if you throw up again, I'm shoving it back in your mouth.”
“Eugh. Gross. Shut up bro.”