Part 12: Empty Coffin

Jars and bottles line the table, with dried herbs bound with twine placed neatly in the corner.
The furnace spits out the scraps of old business cards.
Beside the furnace, a box lies half-open, revealing a familiar black mask.
Doctor: Sorry, I've never seen a case like this before. I can't quite believe what I'm looking at, to be honest. I'm afraid there's nothing human medicine can do. This is well beyond my means.
He removes his hat and bows deeply to the injured man sitting in the chair.
Then he picks up the briefcase and turns to leave.
Legers: ...
He gathers more cards into a tight ball in his fist and tosses them into the furnace.
There is another knock from a separate door.
"Bang—!"
Before he could answer, the door is bashed open.
Gio: What do you think you're doing, Pops?! No one told me you took the new kids to Haight Street!
Gio: Those crazy dogs coulda hurt you! You know that?!
Legers: Hurt me? Heh. I appreciate your concern, kiddo.
Legers: I heard that you found your dagger. Who was kind enough to return it?
Legers: That lady from the New Age Market? I know you've been sweet on her.
Gio: ...
Legers tosses a stack of sealed envelopes onto the table.
Legers: You've been over here for a few years. I think it's time you went back to Italy. Stay there for a while. Oh, and say hello to your mother for me.
Gio, standing at the other end of the table, lets out a silent laugh.
Gio: Listen to yourself, Pops.
He raises the gun toward the old man with purpose.
Gio: Five years ago, when we moved here from that remote arcanist village, we were down and out.
Gio: But still, you said you'd rather shoot yourself in the head than return home a loser.
Gio: You promised we'd settle down here. Make it our second home.
Gio: We were cast out by the humans, but we trusted you.
Gio: We all understood that hating humans wouldn't put food on the table. That's why we respected you—why we still respect you.
The gun trembles in his hand, his words increasingly agitated.
Gio: Jerry Little Finger died in the tub. His mama still thinks he's working for us on the sea.
Gio: Short Ken, who spent his whole life waiting tables, was shot to pieces just a couple of days after his daughter was born!
Gio: And my wife, Savina, was burned to death by some piece of s**t arsonist! Even now, the cops won't tell me who did it!
Gio: But even through all the pain, and all the hardship, we had principles. Principles that have earned us respect and made us more money than our fathers did in their entire lives! But now you've been corrupted by those lunatics from the Order of Enlightenment!
Gio: Now the clinics refuse to treat us. They know we don't go by our principles anymore! That every cent we have is taken from those poor people who're as hungry as we used to be!
Gio: What do we stand for now? Beating down on the poor and murdering children?! No one trusts us anymore! You're pushing everyone further and further away! When are you gonna stop, huh? How many more have to suffer?!
His arm feels heavy. It trembles with exhaustion.
Legers: Gio, my boy. You haven't seen the bigger picture.
Legers approaches, grasping the quivering muzzle of the gun.
Then, like a kindly father receiving a gift, he takes the gun into his own hands.
Legers: And even now, with that girl messing with your mind, you have no intention of killing me. You're loyal. I'll give you that, kid.
"Boom!"
Gio collapses in a heap.
Gio: Ugh!
But the gun is not held at Gio's head. Instead, it is aimed out toward the pitch-black corridor.
Legers: I've been wondering who that witch is, the girl who's making my boy feel mercy and guilt.
Legers: You're not thinking straight anymore. Can't even hold a gun. It's shameful.
???: Gio's hesitating because he is thinking straight, Legers.
She emerges from the shadows of the corridor.
Mercuria: Bullets don't bring peace.
Mercuria: Gio is risking his life to make you see the truth. I believe you understand that better than anyone.
Mercuria: But, if you insist on taking his life, I won't stop you. He made this choice himself.
Legers: Is that so?
He presses the gun's muzzle down on Gio's chest.
Gio reaches out a hand, grasping the man's shoulder, as if asking for something.
Gio: I'm sorry, Pops.
Legers: ...
The gun is thrown to the ground.
Legers: Get him outta here. I've no need for cowards, no matter how loyal they are.
Mercuria: You've got me wrong. I didn't come here to help Gio or to witness his sacrifice. I was just following my heart.
Mercuria: I was invited here, to join you.
She nods, stating it as if guided by fate.
Mercuria: To be precise, I've come here to help you. Just like that doctor.
Her gaze sweeps over the hearth, the herbs, and the box, taking in everything in the room.
Finally, her eyes fix on the carpet between them.
Mercuria: deep breath I see.
Mercuria: I've seen it countless times. How people gather energy to themselves. They put their own lives—their own desires—above all else. They take from others, even exploiting them to satisfy their greed.
Mercuria: But Gio's not one of them, nor are you. I can see the aura around you—your soul, your wishes, your energy—none of them are focused on yourself.
Mercuria: They're all focused on someone else—someone hidden in this place.
She raises her hand and points to the blood-stained patch beneath the carpet.
Legers: ...
Mercuria: He's right here, beneath these floorboards. And you've kept him secret all this time, haven't you?
...
She carries the lamp into the pitch-black stairway.
Her guide walks ahead of her, descending with neither light nor a raised hand, taking each step firmly and confidently as he moves into the darkness—never missing a step.
It is as familiar to him as walking a well-worn path home.
The acrid smell hits her nose, filling her lungs with a shuddering insect-like sensation.
Black mold spreads out from the bed frame in front of them, creeping down and across the floor and walls.
???: coughs and spits
The emaciated body on the bed arches upwards, coughing out a haze of yellow spores from the gaping sore in its throat.
Mercuria: So he's the reason for everything you've done.
Mercuria: Death has almost taken him, yet you still cling on to him. You won't let him go. He's suffering.
She picks up the photo next to the bed frame.
Two men standing in front of a university, their faces nearly identical.
Mercuria: So the rumors were true. The wailing that people heard, it came from this poor man.
Mercuria: And you, a human of flesh and blood, unprotected by any arcane skills, were shot in the head, yet continue to walk and talk. Those bullets never penetrated your head, did they? Because you're not Legers.
Mercuria: He is.
Mercuria crushes the dried grass in her palm with her thumb, then bites her fingertip to draw some blood.
She gently smears the paste of blood and grass onto the corpse-like man's withered, emaciated face.
Red blood begins to drip from the steeped paste, following the fungal strands into his throat, ears, and nose, and, at last, into his lungs.
Mercuria: The Order of Enlightenment has allowed him to survive, albeit in a dying body. But there's a price for this: his consciousness.
Patient: coughs and vomits
A thick mass of fungi-strewn pus pours out of his throat.
Mercuria: The most I can do is recover his consciousness for a short while, but I can't save him from death.
She closes her eyes and extends her hand, a halo of light enveloping the unconscious patient.
The patient's eyes reopen weakly.
Patient: coughs You tried so many treatments, brother. Sometimes it felt like torture.
Patient: Heh. coughs Look at me. I look like a piece of moldy bread.
Legers: You're back?! Legers, you're back!
Legers: Listen, I've found a way to cure your condition. I swear you won't die. I swear!
The patient shakes his head in a creaking drawn-out motion.
Patient: Are you a professor now, Salvadore? This outfit isn't your usual style. coughs You used to wear a pair of gold-framed glasses and criticize everything you saw. A true intellectual. That's the Salvadore I know.
Legers: After you were shot, I disguised myself as you. I've been running your kingdom. These kids need you, so I gave up my diploma.
Legers: We'll share the fame and power when you get back on your feet, just like you always wanted.
Patient: coughs Listen, this isn't what I wanted. You're supposed to be working at a law firm, taking money out of the hands of rich tightwads, not pulling triggers. Not spilling blood.
Patient: You-you gotta get out of this dump. I dirtied my hands so that yours would be clean, so that you could live the life you wanted. I never wanted you to follow in my footsteps.
Patient: How are the others doing? coughs Ken and Jerry? They're both honest, hardworking guys.
Patient: I never should've brought them into this world.
Legers: They've gone home, Legers. They've—
Patient: Really? I knew they couldn't cut it on the street.
His breathing is fainter with each breath.
Patient: Ugh, I've been sleeping for too long, Salvadore. My brain isn't working. sighs Can't even open my eyes anymore. Feels like they're glued shut.
He tries to open his eyes wider, but they remain motionless, stuck in their half-closed position.
Patient: coughs Where am I? Describe it to me. Tell me where I am.
The overhead light flickers, shining into his slit-like eyes.
Patient: Oh, is that the sun? Am I in Italy?
His consciousness fades into a dream-like state.
Patient: I think I can hear Mama calling for us from the kitchen. Did she find out we stole the rum again?
The patient laughs in fits, struggling to find his breath again between each exhale.
Legers: Legers, no—
Mercuria: Yes. The sun is rising.
Patient: Oh, I could feel its warmth.
Mercuria: You ... You're at home, isn't that right, "Legers"?
The reserved younger brother continues stoking their shared dream.
Legers: Yeah. We're in Sicily. We're in your old bedroom, remember? Dad just beat the hell out of us.
Legers: He's smoking in the doorway right now. He said he'd tie us up to stop us from getting ourselves killed on the streets of America. Told us to settle down here, in Sicily.
Legers: I'm sorry, brother. I couldn't get us tickets to the States.
Legers: Mama told us to take our stuff out of the suitcases and put it away. We packed a ton. Heh, you must be exhausted from unpacking it all.
Patient: Oh, we didn't go to America? That's too bad. coughs But I'm happy to hear that.
On the brink of death, he looks so serene.
He grasps his brother's hand, holding the pistol firmly.
Patient: Damn. My eyes are totally glued. Dad really beat the crap outta me. I-I gotta go to bed. Don't wake me up, Salvadore.
Patient: Remember to keep reading. We gotta have one member of the family who uses his brain for a living.
Patient: Promise me. coughs
Legers: I will, brother. I promise.
The withered hand of the patient covers the hand holding the gun.
Patient: See you tomorrow, bro.
A long silence passes.
Until at last his heart gives way, beating its last.
Legers: He's gone. I won't blame Gio.
Legers: And I see now why you all made your choice.