CHAPTER 69: [69] SIX MOUTHS TO FEED

"People are chess pieces," Moreau replied matter-of-factly, her golden eyes gleaming in the amber light. She brushed a strand of jet-black hair from her face, revealing that unnerving smile that never quite reached her eyes. "The only question is whether you’re the one moving them or being moved. You’ve simply chosen to flip the board rather than admit defeat."

Pierre tasted copper as he wiped blood from his split lip. His ribs screamed in protest with each breath, and the cavern seemed to spin at the edges of his vision. Not good. Really not good.

"Maybe," he admitted, fighting to keep his voice steady. "But now we’re all stuck down here together. Your perfect plan, your careful manipulation, your overwhelming advantage—none of it matters anymore. We’re all just people trapped in a hole."

The chamber around them was massive, ancient stone walls covered in faded carvings that depicted creatures long forgotten. Stalactites hung from the ceiling like stone daggers, casting jagged shadows across the debris-strewn floor. The only real light came from that damn amber heart – a crystalline structure the size of a small car that pulsed with sickly yellow energy.

Jack stood several feet away, staring at his hands as if they belonged to someone else. His normally vibrant blue hair seemed dull, matted with dust and sweat. The front of his shirt was torn open, revealing the wound where Pierre had managed to strike him before collapsing.

"I don’t understand," Jack mumbled, genuine confusion twisting his features. "The corruption, the dark energy—it was so clear. You were the villain."

Pierre let out a pained sigh. "Life’s not a story, Jack," he said, his voice growing stronger despite the fire in his chest. "There aren’t heroes and villains. There are just people making choices, and most of the time, those choices are a lot more complicated than ’good’ versus ’evil.’"

Jack’s face scrunched up like a child trying to solve a difficult puzzle. "But the power you absorbed—"

"Came from a Navy captain who was torturing an entire island," Raven interrupted sharply. Her mismatched red and white hair was slick with sweat, sticking to her forehead as she kept her hands pressed firmly against the worst of Pierre’s wounds. Blood seeped between her fingers despite her efforts. "Pierre didn’t steal it for himself. He took it to stop Hardy from hurting more people."

The pressure of her hands sent lances of pain through Pierre’s side, but he knew better than to tell her to stop. Without her help, he’d be bleeding out on the cold stone floor.

Alyssa stepped forward, the chamber’s strange light casting harsh shadows across her aristocratic features. Her platinum blonde hair was disheveled, her expensive clothes torn and dirty, but her posture remained regal as ever. Her voice was ice-cold as she glared at Jack.

"That ’corrupt’ man you just tried to murder saved my life," she spat, the contempt in her voice thick enough to cut. "He saved an entire town from my father’s tyranny. What have you done besides destroy a marketplace and trap us all underground?"

Jack opened his mouth to respond, but fell silent as a new sound emerged from the shadows near the artifact. The soft whisper of steel being drawn from leather sheaths echoed through the chamber, sending a chill down Pierre’s spine.

Saxe Webb stepped into the amber heart’s pulsing light, his twin sabers gleaming like liquid mercury. The man was tall and gaunt, all sharp angles and hard edges. Scars crisscrossed his face like a roadmap of violence, but his most unsettling feature was his complete lack of expression. His eyes held the cold focus of a predator selecting its prey – emotionless, calculating, patient.

Pierre had heard of Saxe during his research on Moreau. The man never spoke – some said his tongue had been cut out as punishment for betraying a previous captain. Others claimed he’d taken a vow of silence after killing his entire family in a rage. Whatever the truth, one thing was certain: his loyalty to Moreau was absolute.

"Saxe," Moreau said softly, her golden eyes never leaving Pierre’s face. She lounged against a fallen column, looking for all the world like this was merely an inconvenient business meeting. "I believe our guests have overstayed their welcome."

The silent enforcer began walking toward Pierre’s group, his sabers held in a loose, ready grip. Each step was measured and deliberate, like a funeral march played in steel and shadow. His boots barely made a sound against the stone floor, as if even noise itself feared this man.

Pierre tried to gauge the distance to the rusty pipe he’d dropped. Three feet, maybe four. Might as well be a mile in his condition.

Raven moved to intercept Saxe, her body coiled like a spring despite her exhaustion. Blood – Pierre’s blood – stained her hands as she settled into a fighting stance. "You want him? You go through me first."

Alyssa stood as well, her riding crop crackling with energy as she tested its weight. Her eyes darted between Saxe and the weapon, betraying her lack of real combat experience. "And me."

Even Jack, confused and shaken as he was, stepped forward. His usual bravado was missing, replaced by genuine uncertainty. "Wait. If we’re all trapped down here, shouldn’t we be working together to find a way out?"

Moreau’s laugh was like breaking glass – sharp, dangerous, and slightly unhinged. "Oh, my dear blue-haired hero. There is no way out. The entrance is sealed under tons of rock that would take weeks to clear, assuming we had the proper equipment. Which we don’t." She gestured around the chamber with languid movements. "The only question now is who controls this chamber and its... resources."

Her gaze drifted to the amber heart, still pulsing with alien light that cast everyone’s shadows in sickly yellow. "The artifact contains enough power to sustain one person indefinitely. Perhaps two, if they’re very careful about rationing. But five? Six?" She shook her head, lips curving into a predatory smile. "Simple mathematics, really."

Pierre felt a chill that had nothing to do with his injuries or the damp chamber air. The realization hit him like a physical blow. Moreau wasn’t just talking about the artifact’s power. She was talking about survival itself. Food, water, air—all the things that a sealed chamber would eventually run out of.

And she was right about the mathematics.

How long would the air last? Days? A week? And what about water? There was a small pool in the corner, but was it drinkable? Would it replenish? His mind raced through calculations, each more grim than the last.

"You’re talking about murder," Jack said, his voice hollow with disbelief, the childish optimism that defined him finally cracking under the weight of reality.

"I’m talking about survival," Moreau replied, examining her scaled left hand with casual indifference. "This chamber wasn’t designed to support multiple occupants for an extended period. Someone will have to make the hard choices. The question is whether it will be someone with the wisdom to make them properly, or someone who still believes in fairy tale endings."

Saxe continued his advance, now only a few steps away from Pierre’s group. The amber light reflected off his blades, creating dancing patterns on the chamber walls that looked disturbingly like writhing serpents. His scarred face remained a mask, but his intent was clear in every line of his body. He would kill them all without hesitation or remorse if Moreau gave the word.

Pierre tried to stand, his legs shaking with the effort. He gritted his teeth against the pain that threatened to black him out. Hardy’s power was almost gone now, leaving him with nothing but his own injured body and whatever remained of his tactical mind. The rusty pipe lay beside him where he’d dropped it, but he doubted he had the strength to lift it, much less fight with it.

Think, he told himself, sweat dripping down his face. There has to be something. Some angle Moreau hasn’t considered. Some weakness in Saxe. Some way to turn this chamber from a tomb into an opportunity.

He scanned the walls, the ceiling, the artifact itself. There were symbols carved everywhere, possibly instructions or warnings. If he could just understand what this place was actually built for...

But as Saxe raised his sabers and the amber heart pulsed like a dying star, Pierre couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d outsmarted himself into a corner there might be no escape from. He’d wanted to break Moreau’s game, but in doing so, he might have doomed them all to a much darker ending than any of them had imagined.

The final battle was about to begin in their sealed tomb, and this time, there would be no clever tricks or last-minute rescues. Just steel and blood and the cold mathematics of survival. He met Saxe’s emotionless gaze.

Fine, he thought, a grim, defiant calm settling over him. If I’m going to die in this hole, I’m taking someone with me.