The last of the trash beast’s skull caved in with a wet, brittle crunch beneath Gris Rubion’s grip. For a moment, the wasteland went still—only the hiss of settling dust and the ragged breath of the Cleaners broke the quiet. Gris rolled his shoulder, the thick rope coiled across his back shifting with the motion. His gloves were slick with grime and beast ichor, but his eyes—cool, steady—were already scanning for stragglers.

"That’s the lot,"

he rumbled, voice gravelly from hours of shouting over the chaos. Riyo gave him a sharp nod from across the rubble, while the younger Supporters busied themselves hauling the remains toward the salvage pile. Gris stepped in to lift a twisted mass of metal and bone twice his size, hoisting it like it weighed nothing. The air still smelled burnt—acrid traces of the beast’s innards mixing with the scorched earth. Above, the sky was a muted rust color, sun bleeding through the haze. It would be evening by the time they made it back to the Cleaner’s quarters.

As they began the walk home, Gris let the others talk, their voices a tired but satisfied hum in the background. The chattery was more about Riyo’s curiosity about this trash monster which gained it’s power from a jinki. It was…treathening actually for the future. Gris wasn’t much for victory speeches. The work was its own reward—and besides, there’d be another mission soon enough. For now, the only thing on his mind was the quiet clink of tools in his satchel and the welcome sight of the settlement’s gates looming on the horizon.

(I’m leaving the rest to youu🫶🏻)