"Lancelot, your little 'die-hard' scheme is gonna get us killed one day."
"Well, it's better than your play-it-safe crap, Mikey."
Michael laid down and raised his right hand to cover his eyes from the blinding rays from the sun. The two were indulging in the cold wind while sitting in a patch of grass somewhere in the city.
Lancelot glanced at Michael and let out a warm chuckle. "One day, we're gonna sleep on real beds, eat good food—no more scraping by."
He glanced at Lancelot and, as usual, he had a big smile on his face. "I'm with you every step of the way, big brother."
It came as no surprise; after all, they had promised each other to always look at the brighter side of life, even though they were scraping little by little to make it through each day.
"Move from there, filth. You're ruining the grass, filthy commoners," someone said as they walked past the two brothers.
Michael clenched his teeth. "That ugly, smug-faced pig—I wish I could torch his stupid face right now and do us all a favor."
Lancelot patted Michael on the back and told him a few words to calm him down. This was their day-in, day-out; their role in society was to be human filth just because they weren't born into some noble bloodline.
They weren't related by blood, but as long as they can remember, they've been surviving on the streets together, side by side.
Lancelot was the older brother. He made it his job to protect Michael and ensure that he always slept with a full stomach; that was one of the many pleasures of his miserable life.
They did a lot of different things just to get their hands on some money: from stealing to looting and other shady things. It didn't matter to them as long as they did it together.
Lancelot left as soon as Michael fell asleep, and as the sun set and the winds grew colder, he returned from wherever he had gone.
"Hey Mikey, I got a job for us."
"What?"
"Yeah, from some silver-spoon noble uptown."
"What does he want from us?"
Lancelot ruffled Michael's hair to help get the grass out. "He wants us to get him something from the ruins outside the city. Easy grab. No danger—our ticket to the good life."
"...You think we can trust him? He's a noble, after all. I wouldn't get it past him to be lying about something."
"Forget about that. Are you in or out?"
Michael stood up and dusted himself off. "You don't have to ask me twice."
Lancelot and Michael waited for the sun to go down and, as soon as it did, they rushed over into the forest outside the city. It was dark and creepy as any other forest.
***
"Captain, we have a problem."
"What's wrong now?"
"It's a... Dreadmaw."
"Where is it?"
"The Omasian Ruins."
I'm tired. We've been walking for hours,Michael thought to himself as he wiped the sweat off his forehead.
They came to a stop in front of an abandoned white stone ruin.
"We're here, Mikey. Take a look. Isn't it beautiful?"
Michael took a few steps and came to a stop near Lancelot. "Yeah... so what's the plan, Lance?"
They crouched in front of two bushes and Lancelot laid out a scroll that had an image on it.
"This is what we came for, Mikey. Inside, there's a tomb filled with jewelry and all sorts of valuable items."
Michael's eyes widened with curiosity. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go."
Michael stood up and—woosh—a small flame appeared from the tip of his finger.
"Careful, Mikey. Don't waste your mana; you don't have much to spare."
"Don't worry, I can do this much at best."
They walked deeper into the ruins and finally, right there in the center, the moonlight illuminated the tomb of the Omasian Ruins.
Lancelot walked closer and ran his palms all over the rough stone to show respect to the hard work that went into making this very tomb.
Michael walked around, looking at all the images and writing on the walls, and ran his hand across them.
Woosh.
Suddenly, the fire from his finger went out.
"LANCE!"
[Heavy footsteps]
A large arm came out from the dark behind the tomb. Lancelot slowly took three steps backwards.
Roar!!!
The walls behind the tomb crumbled as they revealed an enormous, quadrupedal mountain of raw muscle and scales—faceless, with a mouth full of rows and rows of hooked, sickle-shaped teeth.
It approached slowly, letting out shrieks. Out of nowhere, it swung its left arm and sent Lancelot flying. "LANCE!" Michael ran to check on Lancelot.
It charged towards them and blew a hole in the freaking wall.
"I should have known; he wasn't telling me something."
"There's no time for that! What are we gonna do?"
"I think we can beat it, Mikey. It's me and you, after all."
As it charged forward, Lancelot hit it with a gust of black wind, disorienting it. Then Michael jumped and landed a punch, following it up with a kick as he fell back down. Out of nowhere, Lancelot made a pitch-black shadow spear and—woosh—he threw it towards it, and it pierced its chest.
"We can do this! It's down."
It woke up and threw a piece of the broken wall toward Lancelot with its right arm. He blocked it by making a shadow wall. Dust came out from the rubble, and as he was momentarily blind, it hit him right in his ribcage with a strong swing of its left arm.
"Gyaah!" Lancelot gasped for air as he went flying.
It focused on Michael, who for some reason was not using any powers—just pure physical attacks. As it charged towards him, sparks began forming in his fingers.
"Mikey, don't! If you end up passing out, we're done for! Run!"
In that split second as he stood still, waiting to make a decision, Lancelot jumped in front of him. It grabbed him with its powerful hand and began crushing the life out of him.
"AHHHHH!" Lancelot screamed in pain. Crack—as his bones got crushed.
Michael could only watch the horror of his brother being crushed to death. He slowly raised his arm and, once again, sparks began to form.
"I'm sorry, Michael. Don't try and save me. It'll kill you."
Michael froze as he heard Lancelot tell him to run and leave him behind.
Tears fell from Lancelot's eyes as he glanced at Michael. "...Michael... please don't die. I won't rest in peace knowing that I took you to the grave with me. Live for me, Mikey, please."
"Don't say that! Let me help you!" A stream of tears came down from Michael's eyes.
Lancelot smiled at Michael and said, "Hey Mikey, please be my seven minutes... okay?"
Crack... crack... crack.
Splash.
Blood went out of his body as his soul left his body. His eyes rolled backward as they lost their shine.
Thud. Lancelot's lifeless body landed on the ground as it threw him away like a toy you don't wanna play with anymore.
It waited to see what Michael would do; it wanted to toy with him and savor his despair.
He slowly crawled toward Lancelot's dead corpse and sat right beside it.
...He grabbed his chest slowly and clenched his fist around his shirt. He touched the body, and it felt ice cold.
It took two heavy steps forward as it licked its teeth with its long, slimy tongue.
His voice cracked. "Wa... wake up."
Emotions hit him hard, like an earthquake inside his heart and his head.
Tears streamed down his face, hot and relentless. He gasped for air, sobs racking his chest.
He buried his face in his hands. "Why... why did it have to be like this?"
Grief hit him like a wave.
"Haaa... huh..." He couldn't breathe.
And just like that, he stopped. He stopped crying; his face went cold and his eyes opened wide.
He stood up and looked straight ahead. And with all this happening, this monster had the fucking nerve to smile like it was served a meal on a silver platter.
Out of all the emotions he was feeling, one emotion felt like home.
Steam started dancing from his skin. With each heartbeat, his skin burned hotter.
Roar! The monster began charging for him.
He clenched his teeth, and heat scorched through his hands like gasoline.
It charged at him at full speed and, with one precise bite, it closed its jaw shut. But to its surprise, something had stopped its jaw from closing.
He held its jaw with his bare hands, and the heat began to sting it. Then, out of nowhere—woosh—an ocean of flames scorched its mouth. "YOU DID THIS!"
Its body began to move restlessly due to the pain it felt; its tail whipped around. But as the flames burned its head, not just its mouth.
The world turned gray and its screams became whispers. His legs gave in and buckled down, and he soon found himself on the floor.
It went into a spiral of pain and rage as it moved away momentarily and looked at Michael, who was down on the ground.
Unable to stop the pain in its mouth, it rushed toward Michael.
Feeling the exhaustion, Just a little more... please.
Unable to make out what he was seeing, he saw the monster crash down to the ground under a heavy presence.
Then he saw black, and then nothing.