Chapter 43 – Confession Beneath the Ground
The sky was silent that night. As if the city itself had stopped breathing. Enver stood at the mouth of an old station long closed to the public, surrounded by rusted fences and graffiti-covered walls, yet still carrying the stench of fear that had never been cleansed.
He descended the stairs into the underground where time no longer moved. The air dripped—thick and bitter.
The card within his cloak glowed by itself. The symbol at its center shifted into vertical lines, like an unwritten memorial tablet.
"They never left this place," Enver whispered softly.
"Because no one has ever spoken an apology—truthful, sincere."
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The Cry of Concrete
Hall after hall he passed through. The faint light of his fingertips illuminated muddy footprints, cracked walls, and… finger bones jutting out from between the concrete.
A faint grinding sound echoed from every direction, like weeping metal.
Suddenly, the corridor opened into a vast unfinished chamber: bare concrete walls, steel frames hanging like roots from hell.
At its center stood a colossal astral being—its head riddled with cement cracks, eyes made of trembling gravel, its body formed of pillars, steel plates, and barbed wires. Its hands were slow-turning drills.
"We were never given names, as if we were worthless," it murmured. Its voice thundered like hammers against a coffin.
"We died so humans could work faster, finish their projects better, and on time."
Enver remained silent at the words of the colossus. His hand slowly raised a card.
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Battle in the Belly of the City…
The monster drove its drill-hand into the ground, sending a metallic quake that hurled Enver against a concrete pillar. Dust swirled like a mist of bones.
Enver activated the card Tempo Spezzato, shattering time into fragments and slowing the creature's movements—but only briefly. The monster quickly rewound the field, twisting the tunnels into illusions.
The corridors became a labyrinth. Enver saw himself trapped inside the walls. The light vanished instantly.
"We were silenced in death. Now you must hear us, even from the grave!" the creature roared.
Enver drew two cards at once—something he rarely did:
Separazione d'Anima: separating the souls embedded in the creature into individuals.
Occhio Nudo: opening the third eye to see the hidden collective consciousness.
One by one, faces emerged within the monster's body—not ghosts, but unfinished memories carved in pain.
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Trial in the Corridor of the Dead…
Enver stepped forward slowly, not to attack—but to summon each name.
He read aloud from the old records he carried from the city archives. With every name spoken, a fragment of the monster vanished. Yet in the end, the remaining souls gathered together, refusing release.
"We don't want to leave."
"No one ever confessed to guilt."
"We were forced to die buried, while they climbed in rank."
From the wall emerged the old architect—not in his living flesh, but as a broken astral shell: eyeless, mouth sewn shut, white robe stained with cement.
"If I am honest, I also died," he said weakly.
Enver gazed at him—not with rage, but with sharp silence that cut through pride.
"Then you shall die as a man. Not as a coward's shadow, not as an unwanted creature. Do you wish that to be your end?"
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Purificazione…
This was no ordinary purification. There was no gentle light to cover them.
This process was heavy, slow—like scraping sins from a tombstone.
Enver grasped his final card: Anima Trovata—a card that only awakened when souls truly accepted their departure.
Instead of striking, he closed his eyes and prayed for them—with the simple words they had never heard while alive:
"I'm sorry."
"Thank you."
"You will never be forgotten."
One by one, the souls departed.
The drill-hand crumbled into dust. The steel beams collapsed into grains of light.
The old architect finally fell to his knees, weeping. His astral form unraveled and was carried away by the unseen, yet undeniable, Tribunal of Souls.
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The Ending…
Enver walked out of the old station. The moment his feet touched the surface, the tunnels behind him collapsed, as though the earth itself swallowed the shame of mankind.
Morning had come. The sunlight brushed his skin, but he knew… sins like these did not end with one project. They lingered in many other places still.
He opened his small notebook, writing a final note:
"The next victims may not only be those who worked underground. But also those who sat above the surface."
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