They're mine!
At the sight of the five bright red money pouches laid out before him, Gerry's eyes flashed with greedy excitement. He stepped forward, reaching out to grab them—only to have a dark figure block his path.
"It's you?"
Gerry frowned at his younger brother, his voice sharp with irritation. "What are you playing at?"
"I think the gentleman is right, Brother," the younger man replied, his tone unnervingly cold. Unlike his usual quiet, obedient self, he now stood his ground with a steely resolve.
"We should settle the split first, before we do anything else."
"Split? There's nothing to split!"
Gerry's frown deepened. The moment he'd seen the five pouches, he'd realized the problem—but he'd planned to deal with it later. Clearly, his brother had other ideas. Glancing over at Black, he saw the nobleman—still shrouded head to toe in black—inspecting the bodies without a care for their argument.
"Forget this nonsense. Let's get out of here first. We can divide the money once we're somewhere safe."
"No!"
To Gerry's shock, his normally obedient brother refused outright.
"I want my share now."
"You—!"
"I know what you're thinking, Brother," the scrawny shadow hissed, his eyes blazing with a fierce light Gerry had never seen before.
"You want to go home, buy a farm, and play the rich man. You want to show our parents we're not useless failures. Fine—that's your dream. But it's not mine. I don't want to go back to that godforsaken hovel, to those miserable fields, to any of it! I want the outside world! I want the glittering cities, the beautiful women—the real ones, not the frumpy peasant girls back home. Girls like *her*," he spat, nodding at the noble maiden's corpse nearby. "And I want them *alive*, not rotting in coffins!"
Gerry stared at his brother in stunned silence, as if seeing this side of him for the very first time.
"So I'm not going with you. I'm staying in the city. I've never had money before, but now I do! With this gold, I can open a shop in the wealthy district, just like old Brown. I've got skills, I've got grit—and now I've got the coin. I'll live better than you ever could!"
"Fine then. How do you propose we split it?" Gerry snapped, his jaw tightening with annoyance.
"Simple," the younger brother said flatly. "You take two pouches. I take three. It's only fair."
"Fair? Fair my ass!"
Gerry's temper flared, his voice rising so loud he forgot all about Black's presence.
"Why should you get three? I'm your older brother! Don't you forget—you're alive today because you followed *my* lead, listened to *my* orders! Be grateful I'm even offering you two pouches—four hundred gold coins is more than enough to fund your little pipe dream!"
"Dream on!" the younger man scoffed, his eyes narrowing into slits.
"Don't you dare forget—you already took a hundred and fifty gold coins from the gentleman as a deposit! Now you want me to settle for four hundred, while you pocket seven hundred? How is that fair?"
"You think that deposit was all mine?" Gerry snarled, his face darkening with rage. He'd always known his brother was naive, but this was beyond the pale.
"Do you have any idea how much I spent these past three days? Bribing the guards, the cemetery watchmen, renting this godforsaken warehouse and carriage—none of that was free!"
"How much could it have cost?" the younger brother shot back, clearly disbelieving.
"You're always bragging about how you can sweet-talk people into doing things for free! 'It's not about business, it's about friendship'—that's what you always say! I don't care how much you spent. You're taking more than your share. I want those three pouches, and I want them *now*—not a single coin less!"
"Bullshit!"
Gerry slammed his fist on the table, the sound echoing through the warehouse.
"You think you're some big shot now? Let me tell you something—without me, you'd be rotting in a ditch somewhere, you worthless little worm! I've had enough of your stupidity, your cowardice! Every time we went out on a job, you'd jump at the slightest sound, run off like a scared rabbit while I did all the work!"
"Lies!" his brother roared, his own anger boiling over.
"I was the one who crawled into the tombs! I was the one who handled the stinking corpses! What did *you* do? Stand around and *watch*! Don't think I didn't know what you were up to—using me as your cheap labor because you were too scared to hire anyone else! You knew I'd never rat you out—you've been using me since we were kids! Always sending me to do your dirty work while you took all the credit! I haven't forgotten a single thing!"
"You little—!"
Gerry raised a fist, his face twisted with fury. He opened his mouth to scream curses—but when his eyes met his brother's blazing, hate-filled gaze, he hesitated. After a long, tense moment, the anger faded from his face, replaced by a cold, calculating calm.
"Fine," he said, his voice suddenly quiet. "This is the last job we'll ever do together. You've worked for me long enough, and I've never given you much in return. So be it—two pouches for me, three for you. Take your share and get out of my sight."
With that, Gerry stepped back, grabbed two pouches from the table, and retreated to the side. He untied the drawstrings and began counting the coins carefully, his eyes never leaving his brother.
Stunned by his brother's sudden surrender, the younger man froze for a moment—then broke into a wide grin. Turning to the table, he snatched up the remaining three pouches and emptied their contents onto the wood. The gold coins glinted in the dim light, their shine intoxicating, almost hypnotic.
"So much gold… I've never seen so much in my life…" he whispered, his hands trembling as he reached out to touch the pile.
Then his movements froze.
A sharp, glinting dagger had plunged into his back, piercing his heart with brutal efficiency. The younger man's eyes flew open in shock. He gasped for breath, his body going limp as his lifeblood drained away. With a supreme effort, he twisted his head around—and saw his brother standing behind him, a cold, cruel smile on his face.
"I wanted to kill you right away," Gerry hissed, leaning in close to his brother's ear, his voice dripping with venom. "But I just had to say one thing first… You've always been a useless piece of trash. Without me, you'll never amount to anything. Nothing but a pathetic, worthless failure."
The younger man's eyes widened. For a heartbeat, he stared at Gerry's face—and then a cold, bitter smile spread across his own lips.
A frigid wind howled through the warehouse.
Gerry's eyes went wide with terror. He tried to yank the dagger out of his brother's back, to deliver the final, killing blow—but it was too late. With a surge of strength born of pure, desperate hatred, his brother spun around. A short blade glinted in his right hand, slicing through the darkness—and burying itself deep in Gerry's throat.
Blood sprayed everywhere. Gerry choked, unable to scream or even gasp for air. He stared at his brother in mute horror, his legs giving way beneath him. He crashed to the floor with a heavy thud, his eyes glazing over as he drew his last breath.
The younger man collapsed beside him, his own strength fading fast. He lifted his head, staring at Gerry's lifeless body—and let out a low, guttural laugh, full of triumph and madness.
"Without you… I still managed to do *one* thing right, Brother…" he whispered, his voice fading to a rasp.
He turned his head, reaching out a trembling hand toward the pile of gold coins on the table.
It's all mine… all of it… mine…
His hand went limp, falling to the floor like a broken puppet's. A look of pure, blissful hope still lingered on his face—but his eyes were already empty, his heart silent.
"It's over, then?"
Black strolled over to the two brothers' bodies, his gaze lingering on them with a hint of regret.
"What a shame. I did warn you, after all."
He shook his head, a faint, mocking smile playing on his lips. Then he knelt down and gathered up all five money pouches, tucking them back into his cloak.
"Now, on to the real business…"
With the pouches safely secured, Black murmured to himself. His hand closed around the hilt of his sword, and with a soft *shink*, he drew it from its sheath.
The blade was pitch-black, yet it shimmered with an eerie, otherworldly light in the dim warehouse. As Black held it aloft, a faint red glow began to emanate from the steel, growing brighter and brighter with each passing second.
"Time's up, ladies," he said, his voice ringing out clear and cold. "Wake up."
As the words left his lips, the red light blazing along the sword's edge erupted into a brilliant, searing inferno.