Mors's hands left the sharp yucca plant leaves, passing them to Brandon. A smile spread across Brandon's face as he handed the bundle to one of the women, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. Mors's eyes widened as his gaze swept across the room. His breath caught in his throat at the sight before him.
Before him stood a towering mound of lizard remains, stripped down to the bone, intertwined with other plants, giving off a pungent smell. The sheer size forced Mors to tilt his head to see the top. Drawn by curiosity, he stepped forward, peering deeper into the pile.
Brandon turned with a grin, his teeth flashing in the cave's light. "This is huge. Is this all going to be used for equipment?"
Brandon turned around, his pearly white teeth showing. "Not all of it. Some of it probably won't be usable, but we put everything we could think of into it, hoping most of it could be used."
Price spread his arms wide, his voice booming. "As you can see, we didn't just sit on our asses while you guys worked."
Mors looked around at all the sweaty people, lying on the ground and panting heavily. "I see. Anyway, what do we need to do now?"
Brandon raised his voice, his words ringing out over the room. "Everyone, it's time to organize our treasure. We need one pile for the bones, another for the scales, one for the sticks, and one for the yucca leaves."
The group grumbled, stumbling to their feet, their limbs heavy. Milo sat in a corner, sulking, eating some more food out of one of his vases, a scowl deepening with every piece of food he ate. Everyone made their way to the pile, dead faces covered in sweat.
Brandon sighed, rubbing his sweaty hands through his disheveled hair. "Milo, let's strike a deal."
Hearing the words coming out of Brandon's mouth a grin spread across his face, his voice higher pitched. "Deal, you say?" He stumbled to his feet, almost falling, catching himself on the wall. "What kind of deal?"
"I can already tell you're not going to help," Brandon said, his voice low and steady. He leaned in, the heat of his breath brushing against Milo's face. "But we need you to do something. To be honest... I don't think you can do much of anything... except for one thing."
Milo stumbled backward, stifling a laugh as he wiped his double chin with one hand, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. "You want to use my pot of gluttony, huh? Putting all those useless scraps in it for food?" His voice dripped with sarcasm, and with every word, spit flew from his mouth, splattering across Brandon's chest.
Brandon stepped forward, his tall frame towering over Milo. He craned his neck downward, locking eyes with him, his voice low and venomous. "I do. You're useless, but I'm trying to make something of you."
Grinning, Milo drew his knife, pressing it lightly against Brandon's stomach as he leaned in, savoring the moment. "On a few conditions..." he leaned back. "One, I get to slap you for assaulting me. Two, not only do I refuse to work, but you'll make gear for me, too. And lastly, I get to fight the brat—fair and square. I'm still pissed at that little bastard for insulting me."
Brandon's voice dropped to a low growl, his brows furrowing as his fists clenched at his sides. He stepped closer, his eyes locking with Milo's. "I refuse."
Milo cackled, his eyes gleaming with madness as he lunged forward. "Wrong answer!" He swung wildly, but Brandon managed to stumble back, narrowly dodging the blade.
"I know you can't use your fire ability," Milo sneered, his voice dripping with smugness. "I'm not stupid!"
Brandon dropped into a boxing stance, his hands raised to guard his face. Sweat beaded on his forehead, trickling down his temple as he bounced lightly on his feet. "Doesn't mean I won't kick your ass."
Milo lunged forward, his steps uneven as he swung the knife wildly, desperate to land a hit. Brandon danced around him with ease, dodging each erratic strike, his eyes locked on Milo's every move. They moved in a blur, weaving through the cave, heedless of the group's stunned stares.
Brandon's arm stung, blood slowly trickling down from a shallow cut across his forearm, but he paid it no mind. Milo's flailing was only an inconvenience.
An uppercut from Brandon sent Milo sprawling to the floor, blood trickling from his mouth in slow, crimson streams. He teared up, his eyes unfocused as he mumbled incoherently, the words tumbling out of his mouth like nonsense.
Dazed, Milo stared up at the ceiling, his vision blurred by the pain. His body felt heavy, and the ceiling above him seemed to spin as his mind drifted, the world muffled in the haze of shock and disbelief.
Milo's voice grew louder, tinged with a bitter, defeated edge. "You think I'm just gonna help you all? You're the reason my dad got arrested. Why the hell would I ever want to lift a finger for any of you?" His words cut through the air, full of resentment.
Brandon shuffled away. Helping sort the pile, he scrunched his nose. Looking over his shoulder, he stopped. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"My father... The owner of Mashtech and Breze Insurance was arrested for the stupidest reason... And you all are responsible."
Rain stared back, her voice booming with anger. "Yeah, he was arrested. He single-handedly caused millions to suffer!"
Milo shouted, his face red as his veins bulged. "He had every right to do so! You worthless peasants don't deserve freedom!"
The group froze, their eyebrows shooting up and mouths hanging open in collective disbelief. A heavy silence filled the cave, before they muttered under their breaths. With tired sighs and exasperated shakes of their heads, they turned back to the pile, resuming their sorting in weary silence.
Milo sighed deeply, letting his head sink onto the cold, unyielding stone. "A deal's a deal... I'll offer up my ability—but only if it means I don't have to lift a damn finger."
The group exchanged tired glances, their muttering One voice finally rose above the rest, laced with exasperation. "Sure, whatever."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the group toiled on, sweat dripping from their brows as the final pieces of gear came together. Brandon held up a finished set, inspecting it with a grin before handing it out. "Here you go," he said, his laughter echoing through the cave.
The group eagerly gathered around, their tired faces lighting up as they examined their new equipment. The clink of metal and the rustle of leather filled the air as they tested the weight of the weapons, adjusted straps, and marveled at their handiwork. "This is incredible," someone murmured, their voice tinged with pride.
Mors ran his hand over the cold, scaly surface of the armor, feeling its texture cling snugly to his skin. His eyes lit up with admiration as he examined the intricate patterns etched into the scales. "Thanks, Price," he said, a grin breaking across his face. "This is badass."
Price rubbed the back of his head, his face flushing. "I'm glad you like it," he said, a note of pride in his voice. "Tomorrow, if you're up for it, I could show you some sword techniques. Might be useful for you."
"Sure, honestly I don't know a damn thing about wielding a sword."
"I've got you covered, so don't stress about it. For now, though, I'm heading to bed. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
"Yeah, you're right. I'll get some rest too. Thanks, man… I don't want to die at 19."
Mors glanced around the cave, feeling a brief sense of relief. Pulling out a tattered photo, he held it up to the dim light. It was an old snapshot of him with his family, their smiles frozen in time. 'Damn, why couldn't they have just stayed home?'
He closed his eyes, letting the rough homemade grip of his sword ground him. His finger traced the handle, feeling the imperfections of the craftsmanship, a reminder of how far he'd come—and how much further he still had to go.