"Deliverer..." said Mydei, the Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos, who was similarly beaten to his knees and could only barely support his body with them, looking even more disheveled. His voice was hoarse. "This is the... delicate, weak... younger brother you talked about?"
"He's already... fucking using us as punching bags, grinding us into the dirt..." His gaze toward Phainon was filled with suspicious and grievous indignation. "You... you didn't purposely say that just to trick me, did you?!"
"NO—!!!" As if ignited by these words, a final surge of fighting spirit blazed within Phainon. Some inexplicable force supported him as he actually managed, through sheer will, to wobble and with incredible stubbornness stand back up!
The Deliverer's tenacity was being interpreted in an alternative way at this moment!
His eyes were bloodshot. He glared fiercely at Phaethon and let out an indignant roar. "I'm not convinced! Phaethon! Do you dare... after I finish that one pound of Red Clay... eat however much I eat?!"
"Hah?" Phaethon looked as if he'd heard some unbelievable tale, his eyebrows shooting up high, his tone full of astonishment. "Phainon, have you been beaten stupid? One pound of Droma Red Clay! That stuff, once eaten, will wreck your taste buds for at least half a day, make your tongue numb like a block of wood!"
"Are you sure you still want to compete with me over this? Think you haven't suffered enough?"
"Enough nonsense!" Phainon was completely past caring. Stiffening his neck, he used all his strength to provoke, "Just say it... do you dare or not?!"
"Hmm..." Phaethon looked at his brother's stance. A rare hint of hesitation flickered across his face. Reason told him this was purely asking for trouble.
"Dare not?" Phainon keenly caught that moment of hesitation and instantly perked up as if injected with adrenaline, his voice rising an octave. "Phaethon! You're scared?!"
"Scared?!" That word was like a spark falling into a powder keg, instantly blowing up the dam of Phaethon's reason. His eyes sharpened, and the words tumbled out: "How could I not dare?! Let's compete then! Who's afraid of who?!"
"Good! That's the spirit!" A fierce gleam flashed in Phainon's eyes. Almost the instant Phaethon finished speaking, he whipped his head toward the still-kneeling Mydei beside him—who wore an expression of "Who am I, where am I, why did I get involved in this idiocy"—and issued a demonic invitation:
"Mydeimos! You join too! There are two of us! Two mouths! Two stomachs! Phaethon is alone! The advantage is ours!" His logic was simple, crude, and filled with the desperate madness of burning one's boats.
"This... Deliverer..." Mydei looked at Phainon's utterly deranged eyes, then at the also-somewhat-roused Phaethon in the distance. His heart was full of resistance. He was a warrior, not a Droma!
"Don't you want to see this kid Phaethon suffer?!" Phainon practically roared the words. "Think about how he used that Law to restrict us earlier! Think about that damned Red Clay! Let him taste it too! This is... our chance for revenge! Didn't you say the Kremnoan dictionary has no words for 'fear,' 'stage fright,' 'terror,' or 'escape'?"
"Then..." Mydei looked at Phainon, then at Phaethon. Remembering the frustration of being suppressed by the Law earlier, a surge of malicious anger rushed to his head. He gritted his teeth and threw caution to the wind: "...FINE!!!"
...
The three of them, with a strange mix of tragic resolve, insanity, and a dash of self-destructive momentum, arrived near the Okhema Droma pens.
The air was thick with the smell of earth, ore, and... an indescribable Droma odor.
"Phaethon! Watch closely!" Phainon took a deep breath, forcibly putting on a "facing death unflinchingly" expression. He strode purposefully over to a large, leisurely-feeding Okhema Droma.
Under the astonished gazes of Mydei, Phaethon, and the Droma itself, he very naturally scooped up a large chunk of Red Clay from the massive trough in front of the beast—a trough filled with dark red, sticky lumps, emitting a strong, raw, mineral earthy smell!
Then, under the watchful eyes of everyone (and the Droma), he closed his eyes, wearing a tragic sense of near-"martyrdom," opened his mouth, and took a vicious bite!
*Crunch!* A sound that wasn't crisp but rather sticky.
Droma: (⊙ˍ⊙)???
It stopped chewing. Its massive, gentle eyes filled with pure, uncomprehending confusion.
It tilted its head, looking at the Red Clay in its trough, then at this bipedal creature currently gnawing on its food... with, uh, an agonized expression?
Should it be angry? After all, its food seemed to be... getting stolen?
This god-tier maneuver made another nearby Droma watching curiously also approach, wearing a similarly baffled (・_・?) expression.
Immediately after, driven by grievous anger and "bonds of fellowship," Mydei also gritted his teeth, followed Phainon's example, hardened his resolve, grabbed a large chunk of Red Clay from the same trough, closed his eyes, steeled his heart, and with the absolute determination of a warrior charging into battle, also took a vicious bite!
*Crunch! Squelch...*
"Ugh... *cough cough cough cough*!!!"
Almost the instant the Red Clay entered their mouths, Phainon and Mydei's bodies stiffened!
The next second, an indescribable, terrifying flavor powerful enough to destroy any human taste system swept through their mouths like a tsunami!
It was a complex taste of raw iron rust, low-grade ore powder, extreme bitterness, and a certain indescribable earthy, raw smell. The bitterness was so extreme it even produced a bizarre, electric-like "numbing" sensation!
With the first bite, their tongues felt as if instantly doused with a potent anesthetic, losing all sensation, followed immediately by a burning bitterness shooting straight to the tops of their heads!
Their faces instantly turned from red to white to a sickly green. Their throats uncontrollably emitted dry heaving sounds and violent coughing.
But! For victory! For that damned desire to win!
They had to... imagine they were happy!
Phainon and Mydei, forcefully suppressing their intense physiological discomfort, mechanically, stubbornly continued chewing that sticky, gritty, constantly-gumming-up-their-mouths-and-teeth terrible substance!
Their expressions were twisted as if wearing masks of agony. Every swallow felt like gulping down scalding lava.
At first, the Droma whose food was being stolen even had a bit of a "the more chaos, the merrier" mindset. It even let out a low "Grumph?" as if mocking these two bipedal creatures for their overestimation and stupidity—
After all, occasionally curious bipedal younglings or drunkards had done similar things, and without exception they all ended up fleeing in disarray, tears and snot streaming.
But when it saw those two food thieves, while painfully dry heaving, continuing to gnaw with fierce, vicious eyes, and finally mumbled something unintelligible toward the third person...
The Droma's gentle, large eyes snapped wide open! It saw—that third bipedal creature was actually, expressionlessly, slowly... reaching a hand toward its sacred and inviolable feeding trough!!!
Droma: (☉д⊙)!!! NO—!!!