"What did you find, kid?" the man with the fancy sword asked, his steps slow and measured.
He took a step back. Every nerve begged him to run. But the image of the serpent split in half flashed in his mind, and for a moment, he saw himself being cut down the instant he moved.
His grip tightened on the egg, nails biting into his palm. A faint throb pushed back against his skin, steady and alive. He still didn't know what it was. He only knew giving it up made his stomach turn.
He drew a breath, forcing himself to steady, then his eyes darted around the room, looking for a way out—but there was none. He couldn't outrun them. The assassin would catch him instantly. His eyes shifted to her. That left him one option: fight.
His eyes burned. He pushed tears out, chest hitching as if panic had taken hold.
"I don't know how I ended up here," he said, voice flat. "I'm lost."
"I was just with my friends… playing," he stammered, his voice breaking. "Then this… this white, silver door opened. I went inside and—now I'm here." The words broke between sobs, ragged and uneven. His shoulders shook hard, every breath threatening to tear him in half.
From the outside, he was just a boy coming apart—tears, shaking, the picture of panic. Inside, his mind was steady, sharpening on who had to die first.
The swordsman came first. He had to die before anyone else. He was the strongest of them all. If given the chance to strike, he would kill him before he could make any move.
Next was the assassin. She was the fastest, her movements too clean, too sharp, her strikes certain to kill.
The man in the massive armor was the real problem. He'd blocked the serpent's tail without flinching. That kind of strength couldn't be met head-on. He'd have to be left for last.
The backline, though… the robed ones would break easy if he could close the distance.
It all hinged on killing the swordsman first. Fail, and he'd be dead before he even touched the others.
His left hand clamped tighter around the egg. He drew it to his chest, but their eyes were locked onto it, hungry, unashamed. He didn't need anyone to spell it out. He couldn't let go. If they wanted it this badly, it meant the egg was valuable.
"I found it… over there." He hesitated, forcing a crack into his voice. "What does this even do?" The words were bait, nothing more than a distraction to buy seconds.
"You did well," the swordsman said, avoiding his question, stepping closer, eyes fixed on the egg. "Now hand it over, and we all walk out together."
His boots scraped against stone. Too close. Too certain.
Before he could say anything, the assassin's gaze dropped to the serpent's corpse. The clean slice across its belly made her stiffen, lips parting before she caught herself. Her eyes flicked to the rusted blade lying at its side.
"Kid," she said, disbelief bleeding through her tone. "You telling me that scrap of metal sliced through a serpent's hide like that?"
Her tone cracked with disbelief, shock written plain across her face.
He didn't know why it rattled them. All he'd done was cut through skin. They'd split the serpent in half. Yet somehow, his cut looked like more. But whatever this was, it was good. It worked in his favor.
While they all looked away, his fingers moved slow, careful. He slipped the egg into his pocket and bit down hard on his lip. Warm, metallic blood filled his mouth.
"What—" the swordsman started, head turning to confirm what the assassin had seen.
That was the chance.
His right hand shot up, nails slick with his poisonous blood. As the man turned back toward him, he slashed across his throat—sharp and fast. The cut tore deep, deep enough to sever his voice, stealing his breath in the same motion.
The swordsman's hand clamped down, blood spilling through his fingers. His mouth opened and closed, useless, only a rasp slipping out. His chest hitched, shallow, while the venom was already eating through him.
And just as he thought, the first to notice was the assassin. Her sharp awareness was what he feared most. But the instant she turned, he spat the blood he'd stored in his mouth into her eyes.
Her scream split the chamber, heads snapping toward her. Her hands scraped at her face, nails raking at her skin. He ripped the daggers from her belt, his palm leaving a smear of blood along the steel. One hard pull across her throat. The crack in her scream died wet in her mouth.
Panic rippled through the rest of the group.
The woman in red whispered, sparks crawling up her staff. He lunged, but the armored man was already hauling his hammer free, the chain on his back rattling as the weapon came down in a brutal swing.
He dropped low, sliding between the giant's legs. His eyes locked on the other robed woman in white, the one weaving blessings and strength into the others. She had to go first. He couldn't afford her powering up anyone. His dagger swept clean across her throat, silencing her before the spell could leave her lips.
He twisted with the motion, rising behind the caster. One arm locked around her, the dagger pressing beneath her chin. His hand clamped over hers, forcing the staff upward toward the shield-bearer.
"Keep chanting," he breathed against her ear, cold and steady.
Terrified, she obeyed. Sparks flared, fire burst, and the spell shot forward under his grip, slamming into the shieldman's chest.
The fireball hit him. His scream cracked in his throat, rough and broken. Heat slipped under the plates, burning into flesh. His hands fumbled at the straps, nails tearing as he tried to rip them loose. Breath came shallow, smoke scraping his lungs. Metal fell piece by piece, clattering against stone, but the fire stayed on him, searing deeper.
That was the opening.
He hurled the dagger, the motion clean, practiced. It cut through the air and buried itself between the man's brows. His head snapped back, body twitching once before collapsing on the stone. The flames clung to him, crawling over his frame as he lay still.
He kept his hold on the woman in red. His hand slid higher, locking around her throat. Her nails tore at his arm, panic spilling in shallow, broken gasps. He twisted hard. A sharp crack echoed through the chamber, and her body sagged in his grip, limp and silent.
He shoved her aside without another glance, the corpses hitting the floor in a tangled heap. Then, nothing.
His eyes darted around the room. The air reeked of smoke and blood, stinging the back of his throat. His chest thudded against his ribs, every breath rough. It wasn't fear. It was the rush, crawling under his skin.
His hand dipped into his pocket. The egg was still there. Blood slicked his palm, smearing across the shell until it seemed to sink inside.
A crooked smile touched his lips.
"Oh, you like that?" he muttered, feeling it throb against his hand like a heartbeat. "I'll take that as a yes."