Our crude shovels hit the cold earth. Above, the station's bustle drowned our escape in pervasive hopelessness, while life, or the afterlife, goes on without us. One of the younger men, Small John, tended to our scrap iron brassier. He slowly fed it bench planks, dispelling the darkness of the tunnel.
"I think we're under the fences now, boss," Small John exclaimed. He hid behind the others at first, though I now know him better than myself. He had been a ranger in my army.
"How can you tell?" I almost said before thunder interrupted.
"The old Griffon is very heavy, sir." Small John replied. How did I not notice?
Dirt poured. I cursed as I madly rubbed my eyes. The bejeweled Priest beside me sneered but became blinded too. I had grown a faint tolerance for him as his lavish robes gradually became rags. I chuckled. He was a hard worker despite his upbringing.
"It's no good," I spat to my compatriots behind me. "We can't leave this way."
"And why is that?" The bejeweled Priest countered, suspicion filling his eyes.
"We just have to fix up them pillars," the old Farmer pointed to the iron and wood scaffolding built from the benches he stole. His quiet, unassuming nature made him a perfect thief.
"This isn't a tunnel that will last very long," I muttered, pointing to our rapidly compromising ceiling. Clumps of clay continued to fall like dusty hail, clouding us in frustration. We dug in the wrong direction again.
"What should we do now? Everywhere else, we hit concrete or boulders. I say we push on. We can't die a second time!" The Priest yelled.
"What if we buried ourselves here instead? We certainly won't die a second time," I spat, as I'm familiar with fates worse than Death. In this world, you could only perish from the guards' weaponry.
The more minds tackled a problem, the more myopic the solution was.
"HALT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" A loud guard made a muffled yell above ground.
A storm of footsteps set about in every direction. "IT'S THE GODDAMN CRONE. ALL MEN AT ARMS, ALL MEN AT ARMS!!!"
Chaos ensued. We quickly assembled under the platforms where our tunnels began. Peering from under the dirty rags that hide our entrance, we saw frightened guards scrambling, fumbling for their weapons, knocking passersby out of their way. Most of them were wielding silvery rifles and sabers. Somehow, they wheeled a twelve-pounder cannon.
I heard gunshots in the distance. As the light stunned my eyes, I asked small John, "Who are we missing?"
"Sir! Big John, Miss Antebury, and our lady Sorceress hadn't reported back for two nights." Small John exclaimed, then shushed himself.
"Well, that confirms it." I spat. Running the numbers, I could tell that rescuing them was futile, though they could compromise us all if questioned. The soldiers, on the other hand, referred to someone named the Crone with familiarity. That could be advantageous.
Why was she helping us even though she doesn't want to leave? I asked myself, fearful that I'll never get an answer.
"Priest, Farmer, head out with me," I whispered. They nodded. We left Small John and the rest of our dozen or so guys to guard the tunnel. The Priest and I snuck onto the platforms, quietly hauling the Farmer up too. We joined up with a frightened crowd heading outside.
"What's the plan, Mr. Canzones?" The old Farmer asked.
"We'll see if it is our people they have. Afterward, I don't know." I replied.
Entering the square unassumingly, we huddled near the scowling iron lions where we had a vantage point. Near the fountain, a platoon had surrounded three hooded figures. I swallowed in fear, judging their statures to be vaguely familiar.
"Crone, will… yo--you sur-render quietly?" The platoon leader, a thin, unassuming man, stuttered, tightly clutching a rifle that shook with him.
The sorceress, who took off her hood, sighed, almost bored. She stared at her fingers, then said, "I am here peacefully."
"…Buh-bullshit," The platoon leader asserted. The rest of the weaponry began to train on our conspirators.
Slowly, the old ticket vendor appeared from within the crowd, lumbering towards them, muttering, "What can I do for you, Goddess of the swamp?"
"I have come to take someone back who could benefit the cause," She said calmly, curling her lip.
"None of my children are yours to take." He spoke, almost sad. "A human life is long and cruel and always indentured to something. And now that his life has ended, you would have him serve again?"
"What other choice do I have?" The sorceress was suddenly exasperated. Big John, a burly man who was a soldier of mine in his previous life, ran up beside her, reached into his pocket, but they shot him dead before he could produce anything. Ms. Antebury, a 70-year-old spinster who lost her family to famine, managed to blow out the old ticket vendor's left eye with a revolver. As both men fell dead, the bystanders ran madly, looking for safety.
"In the name of our sun Belenatum, let's go help our sorceress!" The Priest exclaimed. The roar of gunfire sporadically echoed across the square.
"Aye, I think that's right." The Farmer concurred.
"Are you insane?" I yelled, "It's a hundred against five."
"For those who can't forgive the world," yelled the old Farmer while bullets bounced off his skin like thrown rubber bands. He leaped into the plaza.
"And those who the world can't forgive," continued the Priest, firing in the backs of the guards with a lavishly gilded pistol. Where he had produced the firearm, I will never know.
Armed, hooded figures suddenly joined the fray, surrounding the plaza from within the crowd of bystanders. They carried small firearms, hatchets, spades, and clubs. Roughly two dozen in number, they fell upon the squads of guards like predators.
"I, The Lonely Crone, offer you revenge against the Greater god," The sorceress finished with a tinge of sorrow. Bullets absorbed into her skin like animals sinking into a bog.
The Greater God, Ruak, was the king of Heaven, who ruled over all the angels, spirits, and lesser gods.
Wasn't the Lonely Crone a lesser goddess? Didn't they worship her in the southeastern marshes?
I think she came in the night and stole children that misbehaved.
Around me, the inscrutable roar of gunfire tore the surrounding station to pieces. Benches became debris as the air became filled with smashed wood. Ms.Antebury collapsed. Soon, soldiers and the hooded figures alike began succumbing to wounds.
I ran to a shot-up stranger. Feeling remorse for my own actions years past, I tried to carry the injured man to safety. He moaned weakly, then the weight on my shoulders lifted, and he was no more. The corpses, a feature of the debris, quickly left this world behind as if they were never there.
They are firing on everyone, I thought, bitterly cursing them both as I grabbed a rifle on the ground and fired at both sides.
Shrapnel caught me in the arm, and I keeled over in pain. In the chaos, the old Farmer walked up to a surrendering guard. CRUNCH. The old Farmer plunged a rusty hoe into his victim's jugular. The Priest's boisterous laughter dominated as the gunfire died down.
"Round up the survivors, the Greater God's men, and the passengers alike." I heard the sorceress's voice through the carnage, now laden with eerie malice. "Coerce them towards our cause."
"Very good, madam," bowed the bejeweled Priest, now obsequious. He could not get another word as I grappled him to the ground. I wrestled his ostentatious firearm from him and pressed it against his temple. Strangely enough, the other insurrectionists did nothing.
"Desmond," said the Lonely Crone, still resplendent despite her true nature. "I'm sorry."
She spoke as if to soothe my short and heavy breathing. "The lives given us by the Greater God are unjust and cruel, even after the bitter end. Join me, Desmond. Together we can right all the wrongs of this world."
"How? We are what's wrong with this world," I yelled vindictively, no longer able to restrain myself. "We claim justice yet incite violence on innocents. We brainwash tortured souls and young minds into rank-and-file murderers." I paused, "We harbor monsters like him."
My trigger finger itched. Finally, I know who this Priest could have been.
"Yes, the one you have hostage is indeed Bluebeard of Monvenue," She responded. Shaven and somehow much younger, I could not have believed that he was the infamous aristocrat who murdered hundreds of children and servants. Just for an incomplete elixir of Immortality.
We remain blind to the blemishes of paragons until they bring us to ruin. I remember standing in full uniform, unable to bear the distraught faces of broken families and forlorn friends as I read to them the lists of victims. I howled like a wild animal. Was I delighted?
"Kill him. Kill the demon who toys with the fate of his people." A hooded figure with the voice of small John goaded.
How could the Greater God be compared to someone like this? Yet, I still pulled the trigger.
He did not die. Since worms like him always survive, somehow, he began to regenerate.
The Lonely Crone solemnly nodded.
"What just soul allows monsters to worship them? What just soul creates misery only to deliver us on a whim? Why are so many people designated harsh, violent lives? Why did he create madmen? You claim we are the evil in this world. Why am I, or you, or her, allowed to be?" The Priest spoke, blood leaving his cursed smile.
My mind left, searching the landscape for answers, even if it was no more. Torn by gunfire, riddled with holes, returned to dust, this world has ended with its god, the ticket vendor.
A Roar came from the heavens. A loud metallic clang set upon whatever remained of the arched roof. Giant meter-long talons dug through thick cement and steel beams. The beast glared in sorrow. It was those terrifying and inquisitive amber eyes, eyes that saw the world and wish to see no more. It was that flowing mane, silvery crimson, like a royal sentinel. The beast that stood four meters tall was the now one-eyed Griffon of Death's gate.
It leaped down and instantly pulverized two of the Crone's men. The remaining fighters, still recoiling from fear, orientated themselves into a horseshoe formation. The old Farmer charged upon the beast and slashed into its hindquarters. Roaring with rage now, the Griffon, pelted by ammunition, grabbed the old Farmer with his tail and threw him through the stone walls.
With the head and wings of a golden eagle, the body and limbs of a crimson lion, and the tail and fangs of a silvery serpent, it tore and thrashed with the fury of Death herself. It lunged for the Lonely Crone, but instead, it swallowed me whole.
***
I plunged into darkness. When my heavy eyelids parted, for a moment, I saw the world in its entirety. A brilliant blue marble floated in darkness. I wanted to caress it, but I knew my touch would destroy it. I could only behold what I loved from afar. As tears welled up in my eyes, once again, my vision faded, but I felt a considerable weight on my chest and limbs. The taste of dirt filled my mouth, and the stench of blood and rot filled my nose. When I screamed, I could not remember who I was.