"What is happening to Deimfel? I thought we were preparing to escape as we waited for everyone?"
While running, turning from sector to sector, Roemel, who was alongside many people who were held captive, spoke of his confusion to Eliott, holding the keys.
Eliott remained fixed forward as he wasted no chance to let everyone they knew innocent out.
"I don't know." He answered before turning to a partition.
Roemel followed closely, matching their pace—a frail lady, whose bones are becoming prominent, with bruises as marks similar to a man who's carrying her, weak farmers in their worn-out clothes, and merchants.
The Regime is not arbitrary in its injustice. Whomever distaste them, are to immediately be sentenced.
"I don't know? That's it? And you let him off to face the guards?" Roemel seemed especially irritated.
"I can't tell..." Right as Eliott was about to reply, he saw from a corner—a familiar face behind a bar.
The man wore an exhausted expression, with gray eyes, a lean face, and coarse dark hair, while sporting a straw hat that may even be dangling on his neck from the back, through a rope that secured it.
"Aeron!" Eliott exclaimed in joy.
Aeron, looking rather pensive, etching the image of the path, was startled by a peculiar voice. He turned and saw Eliott, along with Roemel and some prisoners.
He perked up. "Eliott?"
Eliott slowed down by his cell, panting. "We're leaving. Sigh..."
"Leaving?" Aeron looked at the people around them and said, "How'd you get the keys? Why aren't there any guards alerted?"
Deimfel is dealing with them. Pant. It's also because of him we have these." Eliott lifted a ring filled with keys.
Aeron was left utterly silent in shock.
"Eliott. Right?" Then, one farmer behind took the initiative to ask.
Eliott turned and saw a man with a hand-sewn straw hat and stained shirt, a prison-wear variant. He saw him point at the keys and say, "We can help open the cells."
He glanced at the prisoners Eliott came with and tacitly came into agreement as he added, "Some of the keys in that ring are master keys; they unlock any cells here.
"For your friend who faced the guards for us. It would be best if we finish this as quickly as possible. Don't worry, we know how to wisely pick which prisoners to be freed."
One woman with blemishes on her face nodded, "Guillaume and the Regime mostly target the land workers, us. The majority of us are innocent, and we... just want to return home to provide for our families again."
Roemel secretly gritted his teeth and heard Eliott, after thinking for a while, say, "Alright. I'll have one master key with me to unlock the cells my friends are in. Could you tell me which one?"
"Wait." Roemel chimed in. "How'd you know about the master keys?"
One man among the prisoners came and answered, "Some of the Civil Guards do not bother with their task. Some were aspirants, hence why they entrust their master keys, which are given to a trusted few to monitor the prison.
"I've been here for a year. By then I would be bound to learn a few things regarding this prison. One of them is that the guards commonly hear gunshots."
"Why?" Eliott became curious at the last tidbit as he grew unsettled.
"It's their way to unwind." That alone answered it in a chilling revelation.
Eliott gulped, and after being taught what the master keys quickly tore one out of the bunch. He used it to open the latches of the cell door.
Click!
It opened! Eliott smiled, seeing Aeron walk out.
"Hold on!" At the last second, Roemel exclaimed. "Eliott, resume where you left off about Deimfel."
"What about Deimfel?" Aeron's curiosity grew by the second. "What happened to him?"
"Like I said." Eliott withdrew the master key and added, "I don't know. Suddenly I feel like he knows better than me. Suddenly... Deimfel had grown. Not in a bad way, but... like he's seeing someone he missed."
"How do you know that?" Roemel pressed with slight agitation.
"Mrs. Edensa, she's a widow. Everyone knows her as the lady who would sing for the birds that she feeds. Her eyes looked lusterless, but she smiles." Eliott tried his best to make an analogy as he finally said,
"I similarly see Deimfel. No. Something much harsher; I can't put a finger on it."
"This doesn't make sense!" Roemel lashed out suddenly. "We're talking to him, seeing him, and mingling with him almost every day! Now he's suddenly different?"
"What do you think?" Aeron lifted his head toward Eliott.
Eliott contemplated deeply for a bit before saying, "He's still Deimfel."
Aeron grinned and heaved a sigh of relief. "Roemel. Eliott is right. I don't think Deimfel will change that drastically in just one minute."
"He killed a guard!" Roemel retorted.
"He killed what?" Aeron, right as he said that, a loud, resounding gunshot echoed in the labyrinth.
Bang!
Then, another. Bang! Bang! Bang!
Roemel's hand shivered, and he staggered one foot back.
"Was that... was that Deimfel?" Aeron turned to look at Eliott, who was just as shocked and petrified as him.
"I don't know..." Eliott said in a low voice.
"Of course that's him!" Roemel raised his voice in a bellow. "Guards only had one to two revolvers kept in their patrol unit!"
Eliott's gaze halted. No, it was the same for Aeron, who seemed to have heard something rather foreign.
Their first thought was, How'd you know they carry around revolvers?
...
Seul Prison had a strict regulation to abide by the citizens of Monte Seul's amends. Hence the established rule in Sector 3412: "No firearms of any sort shall be regulated within the patrol units of the nation's Seul Prison. As such, it will only fashion lances to conduct discipline and proper punishments."
Deimfel knew this, and it was only too late that he realized this was merely a facade; this En Sector, along with its other kinds, is merely for damage control for the masses.
The result was... Aeron was killed by a prison patrol unit during their evening escape.
In the stillness of the flickering candle lights. He saw the rest of the guards—ten of them- rushing in, bathed in the dim light.
"You have truly rebelled now, huh? I initially hoped Saint Guillaume could've slipped you off, but with how you acted today? Perhaps leaving you in a breathless body would atone for you." A man with a slightly deformed face withdrew his right arm.
Bang! But Deimfel's revolver was already in the open. At that moment, the guards behind him paled.
"Saint Guillaume and the Principles are what led me here in the first place," Deimfel whispered as he saw another pool of blood from the corpse.
The guards quickly jolted and whimpered.
"Shit, shit, shit! Señor Aguil is killed!
"He has a revolver! Is somewhere here who has a ranged weapon?
"Secure the one with the ranged weapon and let him kill Deimfel!"
They took their lances in position and thrust. One man among them stepped back. Deimfel's keen eye saw that movement during the intense atmosphere.
I forgot how dozens of these impaired hens carry around such lethal weapons like it's nothing... Deimfel quipped before leaning.
He leaned, slowly, deliberately, getting into a slight position while holding the revolver with both hands. Then suddenly, he bent a leg and dashed toward the troops like a maniac.
The guards weren't expecting this. Hence why they were startled.
"Heh, still a naive and pathetic boy."
Bang!
Deimfel fired a calculated shot. But it wasn't on the guards; he aimed for the lamps!
Bang! Bang! Bang!
One after another, darkness proliferated where the dim lights had vanished. Thanks to the lack of vision, Deimfel lowered himself and used his momentum to slide his way down the guards.
"What the...? That crazy bastard!"
"AH!"
Deimfel caught the man with the other revolver by his leg!
Bang! Bang! Bang! He didn't waste any time and immediately started shooting the guards, using his image of their position when the lamps were untouched.
One after another, multiple of the ten armed men fell. Deimfel heard the sound of another revolver that emerged from his target's pocket.
Thud!
It fell to the floor!
Deimfel heard it, but what meant that he couldn't find it in the darkness applied even to the guards who were calm and collected earlier.
There was a risk. However, Deimfel only wanted to deprive them of a chance to fight back. He took one breath and instead completely dismissed the second revolver in the darkness.
The guards are in a scatter, a stampede! They couldn't see where Deimfel is! They could only hear bloodcurdling screams of their allies and the slow sounds of "kneel," seeking their lives by each loud metallic roar!
"Deimfel! Where's Deimfel, Ack!
"AH!!!
"Light! Go toward the light!"
However, that attempt was impudent and foolish. The remaining lantern behind them outlined their figures against the light, while Deimfel remained swallowed by darkness.
Bang! Bang! Bang! The guards that came to the light dropped like flies one by one.
That's six of them. Still four. I have to change position, or they'll know where I am... Deimfel made a decisive choice after seeing that the remaining civil guards found that "going into the light" is a death sentence.
Deimfel dashed once—as far as he could and stopped immediately. Unfortunately, to his dismay, he did not hit a wall. Walls in darkness act akin to a guide; they would help him navigate, and expect the remaining guards to be the same, allowing him the privilege of knowing where to shoot.
Click!
Then, he heard a step. It came from the left. The next second, a slight whimper came from the right.
That meant they were about meters away from him, and away from their comrade who had their only ranged weapon.
The risk is manageable now that they're at a distance. However, Deimfel had to account for movements other than his own, unless he wanted to be assassinated right then.
The darkness became a standoff to whoever gets to locate one another.
One step. Two. Three. Deimfel retraced where he dashed and kept on flailing his feet in silence. Then, finally, after a few seconds, he felt one body on his feet that he thought was in the position where he had left off—the body that had the second revolver.
He calmly bent down and lifted the cold barrel after sensing it on the cold floor. Then, he turned toward the lit hall at the end of the partition.
Clack!
Deimfel threw the revolver there and decisively started walking.
Clank! Clank! Clank!
As he calmly approached the lit area, he heard weapons being dropped—the guards cowering in the corner of the dark.
"T-The revolver. That meant...
"No, no... I-If I stayed here. H-He wouldn't find me," a whisper from a few meters away reached Deimfel's ear as he stopped at the second revolver.
None of the remaining guards even tried to attack him.
Then finally, when Deimfel felt the second revolver on his feet, he looked down but didn't try to pick it up.
He first flicked the cylinder out of the rosewood revolver.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Brass cartridges struck the stone one after another as they produced a cacophony of metallic sounds. By the time the rosewood revolver was empty, Deimfel threw it away.
Only then did he bend down, grab the second revolver, and turn toward the next hall.