When the hour of labor descended the ensuing diurnal cycle, the eyes of the disciples securing their rations gleamed, and energy overflowed from their vessels. They consumed the murky water within wooden bowls—dilapidated from age and insufficient cleansing—as though it were the most exquisite feast in existence, sprinting into the Energy Crystal Mine where the green mist never dissipated.
Whilst breaching the very domain they were forcefully shoved into via kicks and slaps merely yesterday, they advanced flashing the most radiant grins Mel had beheld thus far. Remaining oblivious to the rationale underscoring this was an impossibility, for the discourse echoing from the tables at disparate intervals swelled specifically for this purpose.
"Savor your station in the rankings for now!"
"Eventually, that beast will succumb to madness, and you'll plummet right back to the gutter where you belong!"
