Chapter 11. Past, Present, And Regret
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"How deep have you fallen, comrade?"
Old Tigo's vision was vague from the torture, but even then, he knew who was in front of him. The voice, though rougher and deeper, was unmistakably coming from one of his old friends.
"Fallen," Mayor Lucca drew his eyebrows. The corner of his lips raised into a sneer.
"Stop with your flowery words, Tigo. We both know what kind of person you were in the past! Do you really think those people you murdered that time had anything to do with spirits? I bet it was all part of your plan to sacrifice these… kids…"
"… Indeed, old friend. The person I was back then… is unbearable. Cough, cough, cough. For all the lives I claimed. The sins I committed. It has finally come back to bite me. I just… cough, cough, cough. I never expected everything to end up like this."
Tigo's coughing fit intensified, blood streaming down his lips, staining his plain white shirt and brown pants.
It was a special attire of the condemned at their execution stage: white, symbolizing a prayer for a better next life. Brown, representing their redemption upon the soil of Threa, where their blood would be spilled.
Lucca's gaze then swept over the kneeling figures.
One lay unconscious, having already borne the brutal blow of a guard. His life ebbing away was hardly a concern for Lucca, who barely spared him a glance.
"Any last words?" His tone was nonchalant, as if he were simply asking about the weather.
The eyes of the beleaguered souls widened, still hopeful that the former heart would soften at their pleas, especially since they were truly innocent and had nothing to do with the crimes that had been unjustly attributed to their names.
Tigo's voice suddenly cut in…
"Please. For the sake of our past relationship, let them go, Lucca. I know you well enough. There must be something of you still left in there. Please… I beg you."
His head dropped heavily upon the wooden platform with an echoing thud, and from the jagged wound on his brow, fresh blood welled.
"Look at you, an old soul stripped of dignity, willing to grovel at your own ruin. How much of a shame you are now, Tigo," Lucca scoffed, his face an impassive mask with only a curled lip, hinting at his contempt. His eyes held the chill of a man who had long lost any vestige of empathy.
Tigo barely flinched. Unmoved by the scorn.
"I don't care. Insult me. Mock me. Beat me. It doesn't matter." His breath hitched, his body shivering. It took him moments to put his thoughts into words. "Yes, I am nothing now. A man without dignity. Without honor. Without the pride of a knight I once was. But just please!!? Please just this once, Lucca―please. Let them go!!! They have nothing to do with this…"
Still, he begged.
Still, he hoped.
Silence met his plea—a silence colder than the steel shackles that bound his wrists, heavier than the judgment weighing upon him.
Desperate, Old Tigo lifted his battered head, his bloodied forehead splitting anew with the motion.
Crimson trickled down, filling his eyes, blinding him not just with pain but with the cruel irony of his fate. The slow descent continued, streaking his chin in rivulets, crafting a tragic illusion—tears of blood, wept for a salvation.
Once more, he begged, hoping to soften the heart of his old friend.
"Look at that girl. Her corpse was tied there for three days. Three days. Her corpse, Lucca. She can't even rest in peace. They denied her of it, even just for a simple funeral―cough, cough, cough. And what is the cause of this? Because she dared to fight back against the one who tried to defile her. Can't you see it, Lucca? Can't you see how they don't even regard us as human beings?"
Tigo spat bile between his words, his breath rasping, each syllable scraping against his parched throat. The eleven kneeling figures beside him trembled, tears spilling freely.
From high atop the tall, abandoned building, El, Ran, Sir Giles, and the others listened in an awful hush, the black device transmitting every raw plea. Ran wept, and the boy beside El clenched his fists, teeth gritted, willing himself to resist the tears that, at last, fell by drops in defiance.
"Her name was Rima," Tigo continued, voice cracking under the loads of memory. "She had a little sister—hidden away in the Underside. She worked tirelessly, took no holidays except when I forced her to take them. We often bickered over such small things…"
His breath shuddered.
"She told me once; said she did it all so her sister could afford the overpriced medicine the city sold. Because her little sister was the only family she had left. And now—now, that girl has lost her only SISTER TOO. HER ONLY FAMILY. DO YOU SEE THAT? CAN YOU SEE THAT?"
The scream tore from him, not just with rage, but the agony of a man who had lost more than his own soul. He gazed up at Mayor Lucca, who stood still, his face calm—as if no rain could create a ripple amidst the tranquility.
"They too had families—waiting for them to come home," Tigo whispered, motioning to the kneeling figures beside him. Their sobs deepened—mourning not just their own fates but the unjust cruelty that had led them here.
They had always known Tigo as their gruff, loud-mouthed boss. He was unpolished, unkempt, barking orders without restraint—yet when troubles found them, he was there with wisdom, and patience; guided them with an unexpected kindness only found in those who had lived through their own nightmares.
"We built something together," Tigo said. "A family. A home. A restaurant that welcomed only those who respected their meals—who understood the value of food left uneaten. Just like what you said that time…
"Only those who know of hunger―understand the grace of a meal."
"I still remember it, Lucca. I still remember. …Junior."
The word slipped from his lips like a blade cutting through stone. For a moment—a single moment—Lucca's face twitched.
Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone.
Without a word, Lucca stepped aside.
Relief flooded through Tigo's broken body.
He heard the creaking of footsteps—someone approaching from behind. Was this it? Had his old friend relented? Had mercy found its way into this damned place?
He wondered what Lucca would do to settle this…
It was acceptable if it was just him who died here.
At least he could atone for all his mistakes.
At least he could find peace.
Perhaps, on the other side, he would see Rima again—if such a thing as the afterlife truly existed, as the Lectors from the Church of Origin had preached.
"So," Lucca's voice slithered into the space between them. "Was that all for the last words?"
A beat of silence.
Then—
*Bang*
The gunshot shattered the quiet; the kneeling figures stiffened, horror bleeding into their faces.
Tigo barely had time to react before—
*Thud*
A body collapsed beside him.
He turned. Something caught in his throat.
It wasn't him.
Someone else had died instead.
And it had only just begun.
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