* * *
"So, was that all for the last words?"
*Bang*
*Bang*
*Thud*
*Bang*
Tigo's breath caught in his throat as the first body hit the ground. Blood pooled beneath his fallen worker, seeping into the platform's wooden planks, staining the earth beneath.
Then, another shot.
Another collapse.
Other than Old Tigo, the others stood up in panic.
The chaos erupted in an instant—the remaining figures scrambled in blind desperation, their bodies moving before their minds could process the futility of their actions.
Panic took hold, and in the fleeting seconds of attempted escape, hope flickered like a spark of dying embers.
But Lucca was merciless.
Each shot found its mark. Head or heart—cold, precise, unforgiving.
Tigo closed his eyes in defeat, as he knew what Lucca's actions signified.
Two workers managed to leap from the platform, their feet barely touching the ground before Lucca's bullet and the other guards who joined in the execution caught them mid-flight.
Their bodies crumpled upon impact, lifeless before they could even taste freedom.
The horrified gasps from the Mirthwater residents rippled through the square, a chorus of horror swelling in the 'backline'.
And then—silence.
The stench of death lingered in the air, mingling with the acrid bite of gunpowder.
Blood drenched the grass. The platform stood slick with crimson, a monument to the lives wrenched from their bodies. Souls slipped away without consent; their essence claimed by the merciless hands of power.
For a moment, everything hung in eerie quiet, as if the world itself had halted, as if it held its breath for what came next.
Then—applause.
Scattered at first. Polite. Measured.
A moment later, it swelled, rolling in waves from the nobles and front-row residents, their hands clapping at the spectacle, as if Lucca had conducted not an execution but a grand performance.
Tigo felt his stomach turn.
Lucca moved with practiced grace, stepping toward the edge of the temporary platform. With a deep, deliberate bow, he acknowledged the nobles, the faintest ghost of a smile curving his lips.
A mirthless expression—detached, unconcerned, as though the lives he had taken were no more significant than dust carried off by the wind.
Then he turned, his boots thudding against the wooden surface as he made his way to where Tigo knelt; his forehead still pressed to the floor.
Grasping a handful of Tigo's hair, he yanked upward, lifting the dazed man, who had yet to recover from the earlier scene.
Lucca leaned in close, his breath warm against Tigo's ear, words laced with malice. "Don't try to talk your way out of this, senior. This execution is just a ruse. You know what they're really after, don't you?"
There was a chilling edge to his tone, a sinister allure that coiled around his words like a serpent, enticing its prey to surrender. A whisper that held neither anger nor ardent, just cold certainty that made the bones freeze, the blood curdle.
A promise of dread and inevitability.
Tigo forced himself to meet Lucca's gaze. "… But they had nothing to do with all of this." He choked on his own words.
It was a truth that should have mattered.
But in this place, in this moment, it didn't.
Tears mixed with blood streaked down as he shuddered after what he had just witnessed. For lives that should have been spared, were gone in this meaningless pursuit…
For what???
"These were good people, Lucca… Just trying to survive. And you slaughtered them. For what?" His voice fractured, his chest tightening, seething in ruinous consonance. "They paid the price for greed—the greed of those who never have enough! Why??? Why???"
His words were drenched in agony, desperation that begged for something.
Anything.
Justice. Integrity. Redemption.
They were just echoes here, hollow things lost to indifference.
Meanwhile, Mayor Lucca raised one of his eyebrows in humorless hilarity and boredom.
For him, it was nothing more than an expected response in a script already played out a thousand times.
"Yes, they did." Mayor Lucca's response was effortless, smooth as silk.
"But you know well enough how this world works. Don't tell me you've forgotten that, too? Actions have consequences. When you interfere with power, those around you suffer for it. That's how it has always been. That's how it will always be."
"At least their deaths were swift in my hand. That is mercy, isn't it?"
And then—his voice dropped, the amusement fading.
"Now tell me, Tigo—where is it? Where do you hide it?"
"… ahahaha… ahahaha… ahahahhahahahha…" Tigo's sudden, maniacal laughter grew louder. Piercer… Emptier… Reverberated like a death knell.
Each cackle was knotted with sorrow, a desperate attempt to mask the anguish reaching deep inside.
"I see that you have lost your mind…" Mayor Lucca mocked him, his voice dripping with disdain.
"You pathetic dog," Tigo snarled through the pain. "Is this how you vent it out? Like a child you are, huh, Lucca? You once spat on nobility, cursed them as scum. And yet here you are, licking their boots, wagging your tail. Are you proud, Lucca? Are you proud of what you've become? Shame on you!!! SHAME ON YOU!!!!!!! jfhsaisfudsjdbskfrak sdjshdfkskh… …"
"… I see that mingling with people of the Underside has changed you to a far degree… Uncouth. Unruly!!? Hmmmm," he mused, almost idly. "I knew from the start that despite your noble background, you were an oafish. So unbefitting of that name…"
Tigo barked a bitter laugh. "So what? At least I'm better than you. Way better than you! You lost your pride, your soul, your mind—tell me, what's left of you? What do you have? What can you possibly hold onto? What's still yours?"
Old Tigo rants and raves in incivility, his voice a cacophony of fury and uncontrollable anger. Each insult hurled was a cathartic release to this unknown man before him.
And surprisingly, they landed.
Lucca stiffened. The amusement drained from his face. His grip on Tigo's hair tightened, crueler now, ripping strands viciously. His brows furrowed, his eyes twitching with barely concealed anger.
Tigo baring his teeth through the pain, keeping his mind clear to fling more imprecations to provoke him.
"You angry, huh?" His voice wavered between agony and mockery. "So, you do get angry. I thought you tossed your emotions in the gutter years ago. Is it because that was how you cursed when you were still with us? No worries—I have one more guess. It must be them, right?"
He paused. Let the silence stretch.
"You lost your wife. Your son. Your daughter. All of them. And now—you take it out on everyone else?"
Lucca's expression flickered. Then—he leaned in. Close enough that only Tigo would hear him. Though El and the others also managed to listen to it.
"Yes," he whispered, his breath barely audible. "It was exactly the case. Why should I be the only one to suffer? Why can't the others drown with me?"
"I hate it," Lucca murmured. "I hate it. So I promised myself—I would torment others, just as I was tormented."
A slow exhale.
"You said the girl had a little sister too, didn't you? I'll find her. Send her soon, right after her sister. So they can be together. A family. In the afterlife." His smirk returned, curling at the edges. "You see, at least I am that benevolent. More than those from the Central, anyway."
Tigo froze. His body went rigid, his lips trembling like leaves caught in a storm.
How? How could he say something like that so casually?
It wasn't a threat.
It was a promise.
Before he could choke out a reply, Lucca released his grip, letting him crumple onto the bloodstained ground. He stood up, and proceed to cocked his gun.
And fired.
*Bang*
*Bang*
*Bang*
*Bang*
*Bang*
Five shots. Each bullet biting into bone, splintering muscle—spine, shoulders, legs.
Tigo gasped, pain ripping through his body. The world blurred at the edges.
Lucca crouched beside him, ever so patient. "So, will you tell me now, Tigo? Spare yourself the agony? We don't need to keep wasting our time playing this fictitious game, do we, old friend? You know, regardless of what you do, words… or what will happen, it all eventually comes to one single end…"
Tigo gritted his teeth. Forced the words past the pain. "Is he here?"
Lucca's smirk deepened. "Yes."
Far above, on top of the building, El realized something and turned instinctively toward Sir Giles.
And oh boy, how he regretted it.
The funny, carefree man he had known earlier never looked that scary to him.
Bluish veins snaked up his left arm; his neck, painting half of his face in eerie hues of purple. His eyes—sharp, enraged― locked onto the scene below with a hatred so palpable El's skin crawled.
Just as he hastily turned back,
Suddenly—
The transmission device cut out. A burst of white noise crackled through the top floor.
* * *