The Star bite's deck was a mess of monster remains and a scorched tree sail, and shattered railing, but the crew was alive—and that meant it was payday. Hammer head stood in the middle of the wreckage like a pirate general, bare-chested with only a torn sash and the skull-bead necklace marking him as a veteran of a hundred bloody hauls. His yellow saw fish snout blade was stuck in the floorboards beside him, and a ledger scroll—half-singed—was unrolled in one hand.
At his feet lay the spoils: Piles of zombie dragon bone shards, some still steaming. A scattering of necrotic feathers from the fallen harpies—good for poisons or necromancy scrollwork. A set of seven green demon monkeys' skull trophies, already mounted to a makeshift totem pole. A glimmering bone circlet pulsing with minor enchantment—probably cursed. And most impressive: the zombie dragon king's severed talon, easily the length of a great sword, with black ichor still weeping from its edge.
Hammer head slapped his scroll. "Alright, listen up ya sky-crackin' mongrels! This here's a class four threat reap, which means danger shares go up twenty percent across the board!" He jabbed a finger toward a few nervous deckhands. "You three? Ballista crew? You get iron coins and braggin' rights.
You missed every shot, but I admire yer fearlessness." Laughter rippled through the recovering crew. "As for our sorcerous ladies—Lady Felicity, Lady Faeluxe—ya get first pick of the harpy feathers! Good for qi-thread infusions, I'm told. Might even make yer next curse prettier." Felicity plucked one from the air and twirled it. "As if I needed help."
"Snake Man, ya mad bastard, here—"
Hammer head tossed him a bundle of bone-serpent sinew. "Supple as sin. Might braid that into a whip if yer feelin' nostalgic." Snake Man grinned toothily. "Feels like home." Hammerhead turned toward Marla, whose serpents curled protectively around the tier 4 zombie dragon core she'd already begun integrating.
He didn't say a word, just gave her a salute of his hefty mit. Then finally—he turned to Ash.
"Lord Ash, sir," he said with a dramatic bow,
"By deed and qi signature, this is your kill. I waved my fist over the dragon talon storing it inside.
The crew gave a cheer, weary but proud. As the sun climbed higher, casting molten gold across the repaired sails and burned deck, the Star bite settled into formation again—its spirit unbroken, its cargo enriched, and its crew bound tighter than ever.