"Ain't that wonderful news?" Morgan scoffs. "Evil, that's one way to describe them. Forcing people to watch their worst memories." Morgan takes another swig of his flask. "Well, lad, what did you see?"
Morgan stands up from the wall, taking out the map from his coat.
"I saw my mother's face. Actually, I faced the damn demon that trapped us there, freeing us all."
"How amazing," John scoffs. "How about we get out of here, so I don't have to see your faces again."
"How about you be quiet so I can figure out where we need to go, then I'll ablige your request," Morgan replies. "Can you still walk, Johnny?"
"Good," John mutters." I don't want to be down here a second longer." He pushes himself off the wall, leaning hard on his makeshift crutch.
Morgan eyes him, seeing John's expression shift a little as pain greets him on his first step. "You sure you can walk on that leg, lad?"
"I can walk fine, pirate. Just focus on guiding us."
Morgan glances at me, seemingly about to ask me the same question, but doesn't speak. He walks up to me, with one hand outstretched, picking me up. He places me, throws me over his shoulders.
"Th-thanks," I whisper. Morgan only grunts as he begins moving forward, down the dark tunnel.
Morgan keeps moving through the tunnel, his boots sloshing in the shallow water with each step. The sound of it echoes down the sewer, mixing with the quiet rasp of John's crutch—the air stinks of salt and rust. The closer we get to the exit, the more I can taste the ocean bleeding into the air.
"If this map's correct," Morgan grumbles. "There's an outlet somewhere ahead. It should open near the harbor."
Morgan shifts his shoulders, keeping me steady. "Hold on tight, lad. Don't need you slipping off."
"I'm fine," I manage.
I close my eyes for a moment, listening. I can hear the soft dripping of water seeping from the cracks overhead, the rhythm of our movement, and something else. Something low and endless.
It comes as a roar. "The sea,"
"Aye," Morgan says. "That's our way out." He picks up the pace, his shoulders jolting under me as the tunnel begins to slope downward.
The air changes. It's colder, wetter, and brinier. The walls sweat. The floor turns slick beneath Morgan's boots. John stumbles, but he catches himself on his crutch.
We round one final bend, and the darkness begins to disappear as light slowly appears.
The tunnel opens into a cavern, the ceiling arching high above. I can hear the ocean sloshing against the rocks. A broken iron grate spans the sea, dropping into the water.
Morgan steadily lowers me to the ground beside the grate. The light pouring through the broken bars paints him in fractured gold. John limps after us, his face pale.
Morgan steps to the edge, peering over the water. I can see the sun; it looks like it's near dusk, since it is heading west. Waves crash below, hurling white sprays into the air.
"Well, lads, there's the bloody ocean. Ain't she a beaut'?"
John shifts forward and begins to inspect the grate. "Beautiful?" He asks? " You call that beautiful? We're tapped."
"Trapped?" Morgan repeats.
"Yes, trapped. How are we supposed to get down when my leg is ruined, and Cole is too hurt even to walk? You're the only one who's able to get down safely without the waves ramming into the rocks. We're just dead weight."
"Dead weight?" Morgan shakes his head before glancing at me for a moment, then faces toward John. "How I see it, marine, you're the one who's dead weight."
John's eyes flare at his words. "What did you say, pirate?"
Morgan doesn't flinch. He folds the map into his coat, stepping close to John, towering over him with his height. "You've heard me," Morgan says. "You can barely stand, your leg's useless. If anyone is keeping us from escaping, it's you."
John scoffs, shaking his head, before his expression turns into irritation. He shoves his crutch into Morgan's chest. "And who made me this way? Who's the one who shot me in my leg, effectively turning it into a lump of useless meat? You did."
Morgan doesn't move. The shoe barely makes me budge, but the air between them thickens. "Aye," he says softly. "I did that. If I hadn't, you'd be dead."
"You call that mercy? You were going to kill me anyway if it wasn't for Cole. Hell, you killed more than the demon that trapped us. At least, it didn't kill my fellow squadies."
John and Morgan stand inches apart, glaring at one another like two wolves caught in the same snare. "You think I don't remember that animalistic glare in your eyes as you massacred those men with that hook of yours. I don't know why you've managed to stay alive so far. For the boy, perhaps for the amusement, whatever your reason was, I'd rather be dead. Better dead than in your debt, better than being a cripple."
John throws down his clutch, the sound bouncing off the wall. "You're the reason I'll never stand on two legs again.
"Enough," I rasp, but they don't stop.
John shifts his glance toward, holding the same expression. "I'll give you no thanks."
Morgan steps forward and yanks John by the collar, lifting him slightly. "You should thank the lad, he saved your life. He was the one with mercy, not me."
"I'd rather not have it." Morgan lets go, shoving John back with a grunt. He steadies himself against the wall, his face twisted with rage and grief. Morgan stares at him like he's been punched. "Just go, pirate. Take Cole, and get out of here. You don't need me slowing you down."
"Don't be stupid, marine, if we move slow enough—"
"I said go," John interrupts. "I want nothing to do with any of you. I'm done."
"Morgan..." I whisper. John looks at me next, his face unchanging. "Y'know, Cole, making promises you can't keep makes you a liar. The Saints don't bless liars."
"I'm sorry, John," I managed to say.
Morgan turns around, turning to the grate. He finds a rope coiled near the wall and ties it around a rusted beam. He doesn't look back. "Let's go, Cole," Morgan says as he hoists me up on his shoulders, grabbing onto the rope.
I look at John one last time. He looks away from us, but from his last glance, I noticed the weariness in his eyes. He lowers himself down against the wall, gripping his head.
His mind is probably remembering the dreams the Matriarch showed him.