"H... ey!...
Bang! Bang!
"Hey!"
Ugh... Deimfel grumbled as he woke to the sound of hard surfaces colliding with metal. He pressed a hand to his forehead and propped himself up with the other.
What in the world... As his vision cleared, the blurred image of a room settled—under the dim light, cast behind what looked like bars, a man stood.
His silhouette outlined a rather unkempt frame; his arms were loosely chubby, his height wasn't remarkable either. From Deimfel's point of view, he seems to be muttering something.
"God damn it! Wake up, you lousy piece of shit!"
The spot, bearing what looked like a specialized door whose bars aligned with the cells, clicked open when the guard snapped it with a key. The key wasn't alone; it was dangling on a ring with many of its kind.
The man hoisted his pants, kept tapping on the cell with a baton like he was poaching. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Deimfel felt the guard's gaze as he lowered his head. Instead of paying attention, he was more or less piqued by his two hands.
Deimfel was flexing his fingers and hands.
I'm... alive?
The guard concealed his mouth with a fist and produced a sound that would take and demand anyone's attention. "Ahem!"
But Deimfel remained fixated on his... own hands. As if this was his first time having them. His gaze also lingered on his arms that were clothed in a linen inmate shirt and then to his feet.
I feel lighter...
The guard was deprived of what he wanted. His immediate thought was, How insolent!
"Damn egoistic criminal!" he raised his baton.
Deimfel, somewhat lost in his own world, completely perplexed by his situation and was oblivious to the guard.
How was he alive?
He drank poison, he was paralyzed and left to die miserably, and now he's in a prison?
Guillaume couldn't have blessed him alive, right?
No. Deimfel believed that if their religion truly was benevolent, then Guillaume and his legion would be the opposite of it. He'd rather die than be blessed by a demon!
But how?
Deimfel sensed the air stir and the hairs of his body straightened. He noticed from a glance the silhouette of a man about to hit him!
He reacted; he lunged forward and deftly dodged the baton! He raised his arm and shot his hand for the guard's elbow.
"Argh! What are you...?" And before the foe could react, using the years of combat training regimen he had incorporated, he made the guard collapse onto the floor facing him!
Deimfel was surprised.
Is my leg ok?
Before, because Roemel shot him in the right leg, he couldn't pace properly and would often tumble. This also debunked his cover under the persona he was disguising, which led to Guillaume finding pieces of him.
Deimfel also realized his vigor was in peak condition. Even under the hint of stress, he could feel youth surging through him.
Just what is happening?
"Argh! Let me go!" The guard squirmed and was caught off guard by Deimfel's agility. "So this is who you really are, huh? A rebel? Tsk, rot in cells, damn hypocrite!"
But haven't I been a rebel for years? What's this guard talking about? Deimfel narrowed his eyes.
But then, in the middle of his silence. A pang of sudden recollection struck him; his fingers that were restraining and clenching the guard from the back tightened.
"Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! You're going to crush it! My hands!" The guard winced in pain.
Deimfel leaned in and spoke solemnly, "Did the friars burn Layman Yeoser's hut by the sea cliff?"
"Layman Yeoser? Ouch ouch! Ah! Help!" The guard cried out.
"Helppp... ohm!" But in the split-second that he increased his volume. Deimfel shoved his feet to the guard's head and tried to bury it in the floor.
"Ack!"
Deimfel had nothing left. Hence, killing for him was just a matter of minor inconveniences. He looked at the pained civil guard with a pair of cold eyes and said,
"Just answer."
The guard's heart dropped upon hearing that.
Who is this?
Who are you?
This isn't Deimfel! The naive boy who grudgingly accepted his fate!
I-I have to do something. I can kill him. Yes! I can kill him! I have my revolver with me! The guard rejoiced inwardly as he smiled to comply.
"M-Mr. Leor... I do not know what you mean by burning Layman Yeoser's hut. I don't even know Former Priest Yeoser had a hut. I always thought he had a manor!"
Deimfel's gaze pierced the guard's sheepish and fawning look. Layman Yeoser's hut is well known across the barracks after knowing where I was hiding...
This guard... he had a badge... He glanced at the sigil on the man's chest; it was embedded with a laurel across three birds flapping their wings in a circle.
Civil guards start as Associates, subservient to the Lieutenant, usually hold off for probation, and won't be in service after a year...
By then, this guy would've known me... Deimfel, at some point, caught sight of the man's unusual faint movements. Curious, he lowered himself and withdrew a hand just to grab the guard's fingers that slithered out.
"So you have a revolver..." He said calmly.
Crap! The guard gritted. His body tensed up.
Deimfel slowly sank his hand into the guard's blue tunic and took out a rosewood-handled revolver.
The guard squirmed profusely as he could only watch helplessly, seeing Deimfel inspect his item. Finally, he spouted, "That's not a toy, overly-groomed ape!"
Ape... right, Guillaume used to talk about the people of Monte Seul in such a way... You've really learned from your seniors... Deimfel quipped before gazing at the guard with indifference.
Then, suddenly, he lifted the revolver. His arm bent slowly down until it was straight and the barrel pointed directly at the man's head. Deimfel leaned in, and the cold tip sent shivers down the guard's head.
He said with a detached tone, "What happened to me?"
The guard froze. He was in point-blank! Deimfel holds his life!
"I-I said that's not a toy! Y-You'll kill me! Help! He—Argh!"
Deimfel buried the soles of his feet deeper into the guard's face until his skull hit the floor; even then, he still kept exerting himself.
"Ack! Ahhh!"
This gremlin... he'll alert the guards! Deimfel creased his eyebrows and had had enough. He knelt down and touched the man's head, wrapping it with all his fingers.
Bam!
The voices that were crying out died down into silence. The startled prisoners were woken up a fraction of a second later, completely perplexed and perturbed, but none could dismantle the situation.
Deimfel lifted his head and saw a cell across from him. Disinclined toward unnecessary conflict, he pushed the unconscious guard aside and smiled.
"Deimfel?"
The voice was familiar.
"I heard something loud. You alright, bud?" A gentle voice, distinct and familiar. A voice like old gravel leading the way back to Monte Seul resounded across the path, lit by gas lamps.
Deimfel's pupils dilated. Seeing the man with dark, coarse hair, a rather deep-outlined face, and sharp eyes made him turn into a statue.
The man who seemed to resemble him, as if he was his sibling, looked past the bar cages with pity.
Eliott?
"Hey... I'm sorry..." Eliott's tone suddenly changed on a whim as he added melancholically, "I'm sorry. For putting you into all of this."
Deimfel's gaze naturally dropped down to Eliott's neck; his rough clavicle bore a necklace with a cross. Almost immediately, drowning memories and thoughts surged back like a tidal wave.
"You know. Even though the Regimes press their idealism onto us. I do not think that their beliefs were as tainted as they are...
"You describe Holiness beautifully, my friend.
A chuckle. "Heh, I bought this just for that reason. They're truly hypocrites; their intent is opposed to what they believed. I hope they're condemned..."
"Eliott..." All of a sudden, Deimfel's voice became hoarse and limpid.
"You're alive..."
H-How? Deimfel clenched his hands tightly; the revolver slipped from his fingers, producing a thud.
Afterwards, specks of droplets glinted in the dim light as they met the floor below Deimfel's feet.
Eliott noticed his best friend's mutterings, so he squinted his eyes to peer toward the other cell.
"Deimfel? Hey, I know that urging you risked your own reputation, but... Argh, damn, I'm sorry. This is all my fault. I'll get us out no matter what and get you to meet Lucila by the mayor's balcony.
"I promise that."
Promise... Deimfel lifted his gaze, his eyes pooling, and he dried them quickly with his arm. He muttered gravely to himself.
I heard that promise before... wait, just what in the god's grace is happening?
"Deimfel?" Eliott called again, but there was no response. However, this grounded Deimfel at the perfect moment; it led him to evaluate the whole place.
The cell was shabby; they were most likely at an underground facility. Deimfel was one to have sharp memories, and it led him to naturally conclude:
This prison... this is the Seul Prison! The prison we burnt down as the revolt began!
T-That's impossible... Deimfel's ears rang, and he staggered back.
If it were not for his hands that left the cell, separating his room from the cobblestone path, and caught a table's edge, he would've collapsed.
This... This is preposterous! Guillaume, the saints, the principalities, and the government at the time couldn't have enough resources to fund another Seul Prison!
Even more so if it's a replica of it from the past! At that moment, Deimfel's blood ran cold. He realized that during the time he spent after being framed, he did leave a calendar standing over at his desk as an inmate.
Slowly, he turned his head, his deep ebony eyes reflecting the glint of the calendar standing on his desk:
"December 28, 1675."