Chaos has ensued in the Bayou.
Neighbors accused neighbors of being black magic practitioners. Friends and family turned against each other based on suspicious behaviors and habits.
All because fires have mysteriously started to break out all over this level.
It started small, just some plants and electronics burst into flames that were initially blamed on faulty wiring or some random brat with matches.
As the day wore on, however, the fires became larger in scale. Homes and the clothes on our backs were set ablaze alongside those smaller fires.
Panic began to rise along with suspicion. One of us recalled Calypso and how her black magic was used to create mayhem similar to this.
Thus, a majority of us came to the conclusion that only a black magic practitioner could’ve started this.
That’s when the finger pointing began.
It started with the people whose domiciles weren’t burning yet. Then people that secluded themselves from Arcadia were blamed, myself included.
Those of us accused did our best to defend ourselves. We told them that they knew us for years and we couldn’t be guilty of witchcraft.
They proceeded to justify their baseless claims by saying that they don’t really know everything about us. We could’ve been keeping secrets for all they knew.
As things continued to combust, people started to become violent. What started as accusations became shoves. Shoves turned into punches. Punches turned into full on brawls.
Neighbors began bathing the Bayou with their blood. Friends and family were fighting to the death over something that they couldn’t prove.
I hid from the onslaught the best that I could. Nobody seemed to see me hiding inside a bush; they all seemed too focused on ripping each other apart limb from limb.
Myself and a few like minded individuals were the only survivors. We stood awestruck at the death and destruction that was caused in just a few short hours.
A sinister, mocking laughter rang out through the aftermath, making us jump out of our skin. We looked behind us to spot Calypso, the woman who we thought had long died.
It’s funny how quickly you mouns turn against one another at the first sign of danger. If I knew that all I had to do to get revanch against you all was to start a couple small fires and watch the chaos, then I would’ve done that before I joined Tombstone.
This level isn’t unique either. I’ve done this across many levels of Arcadia, and you all reacted the same way. This level, the Slums, Agora, and many others have all reacted the same way.
And I will keep sowing the seeds of distrust and chaos in every level until nowhere is secure. One level after another, you will all suffer for the crime of being mouns.
She vanished in a puff of smoke, her laughter ringing out through the now empty Bayou.
We worriedly looked at one another and pondered her words.
Just how much of Arcadia was destroyed because of our tendency to kill when we panic?