The silence after the OmniGen hunters' defeat was different. It wasn't peaceful; it was the quiet of a wound being licked. The peppermint shard pinning the lead hunter to the ground began to melt slowly, filling the air with a crisp, clean scent that clashed violently with the coppery smell of its hydraulic fluid.
Nana finally retracted her blades fully, the metal sliding back into her forearms with a series of soft, exhausted clicks. She leaned against a giant mushroom, its cap dimming in sympathy. "I've got lubricant in places I didn't know I had places."
Kurok managed a weak grin, his energy still sapped. "Adds to the flavor profile."
It was then that Dr. Gloubi's latest experiment backfired spectacularly. He had been trying to distill the "essence of calm" from the buttered-popcorn moss by mixing it with root beer in a salvaged beaker. The resulting concoction didn't explode. Instead, it sighed—a long, weary, profoundly human sound—and then solidified into a perfect, glistening cube of yellow Jell-O that wobbled with existential despair.
They all stared at it.
"...I don't think that's calm, Doc," Kurok said.
"Nonsense!" Gloubi proclaimed, poking the Jell-O with a stylus. It emitted another, smaller sigh. "It has achieved a state of perfect, gelatinous inertia! The pinnacle of relaxation!" He tried to take a bite. The Jell-O slid off his spoon and crawled away under a leaf, leaving a trail of melancholic syrup.
The sheer absurdity of it broke the tension. A snort of laughter escaped Kael, quickly stifled, but the dam had broken. Nana let out a choked giggle, which turned into a full-bellied laugh as she watched the doctor chase his sentient dessert.
Kurok's laugh was the loudest, a real, unforced sound that seemed to startle even him. It was the first time he'd laughed since before the Glutton's Gauntlet. The sound made his shadow, which had been huddled and small, perk up. It sprouted its tiny arms again and began to enthusiastically, if uselessly, help Gloubi by poking at the Jell-O cube with its insubstantial fingers.
This was their respite. Not a grand strategy session, but a moment of shared, ridiculous humanity in the belly of the beast. They were trapped in a corporate fortress that had been turned into a magical ecosystem, being hunted by two rival mega-corporations, and they were laughing at wobbly Jell-O.
It was perfect.
Kael, her guard down for a fleeting moment, found herself smiling. "You're all insane."
"It's a prerequisite for survival in Grimecity," Nana said, wiping a tear from her eye. She looked at Kurok, her expression softening. "You good?"
"Getting there," he said, and for the first time, it felt true. The hunger was a quiet hum, not a scream. He looked around at his friends—the relentless warrior, the traitorous scientist, the mad inventor, his own rebellious shadow. This was his tribe. This chaos was worth protecting.
He focused on the faint, patient power within him. He wasn't going to force a temporary overload this time. He was going to cook.
He reached out and placed a hand on the candy-cane tree. He poured a trickle of energy into it, not a command, but a request. A suggestion of nourishment.
The tree shivered. Its bark rippled, and from its branches, new fruits began to swell and grow. But they weren't the chaotic results of before. These were deliberate. Perfect, golden-brown pastries, glazed and still warm, smelling of cinnamon and comfort. They dropped gently into his hands.
"Breakfast," Kurok announced, handing one to Nana.
She took it, suspiciously. She sniffed it. Then she took a small bite. Her eyes widened. "It tastes like... the morning after we successfully pulled off the Giga-Gnome heist. When we just sat on the roof and watched the sun come up."
Kurok blinked. "I was aiming for apple Danish."
He gave one to Kael. She hesitated, then bit into it. A complex series of emotions flickered across her face—nostalgia, loss, a faint, almost forgotten warmth. "It tastes like the lab cafeteria's hot chocolate. The one good thing they had." She didn't say anything else, just took another, larger bite.
For Dr. Gloubi, Kurok concentrated again. A small, perfectly shaped éclair plopped into the doctor's waiting hands. It was filled with a chaotic, bubbling liquid that occasionally sparked. Gloubi's eyes lit up with pure joy. "It's perfect!"
Even Kurok's shadow got a treat—a tiny, shimmering morsel that it devoured with exaggerated delight before patting its non-existent stomach.
For a few precious minutes, they just sat and ate in comfortable silence, the magical jungle keeping watch around them. It was a moment of profound connection, built not on epic battles, but on shared pastries and the ghost of a laugh. They were no longer just allies of convenience; they were a crew.
The moment ended, as it always must in Grimecity, with a soft plop.
A single, perfectly round, bright red radish fell from a nearby vine and landed in the middle of their circle. It rolled to a stop at Kurok's feet.
He picked it up. It was cool and firm. He could feel the magic within it, simple and pure.
Then another fell. And another. Soon, it was raining radishes—a gentle, absurd shower of crunchy vegetables that bounced off their heads and shoulders, piling up around them.
The jungle, it seemed, had a sense of humor. And maybe, just maybe, it was trying to tell them that it was time to move on. The banquet was over. The next course, whatever it was, was waiting.
Kurok pocketed the first radish, a token from this strange, peaceful interlude. He looked at his team, their spirits visibly lifted, their bond strengthened by sugar and absurdity.
"Alright," he said, standing up and brushing radishes off his lap. "Let's go see what's on the menu outside."