Death Guns In Another World

Chapter 1990: Arrival: Higher World

Boom! Boom!

The world trembled with terrifying explosions, the aftermath of the fierce battle between Alexʼs group and Bahamut. With the combined strength of his allies, they finally succeeded in slaying the mighty dragon, but not without a heavy toll—many lives were lost, and the colossal carcass of Bahamut lay in ruin. As Alex and his companions began to lose consciousness from their injuries, the enormous doors behind them swung open, a dimensional rift pulling them in, bearing the venomous curse Bahamut had cast upon the death door.

ʼʼLetʼs met on the other side. Like we did here we will survive even on the other side.ʼʼ that was Alexʼs last message to his comrades and loved ones.

Though the war had come to an end, the people of Mysthia could not celebrate their heroes, for they had been transported to the Higher World.

A new stage await them filled with unknown.

This was the last chapter of their journey.

°°°

The forest existed beyond the confines of time, a realm where echoes of ancient ages filled the air. Entering its embrace felt like stepping into a grand cathedral crafted from living wood, where towering trunks resembled castle pillars and their roots intertwined with the earth like the veins of the world.

Sunlight filtered through the vast leaves, casting golden patterns on the mossy ground, revealing secrets whispered only by the ancient stones.

These trees stood as wise, old friends. Their bark, gnarled and adorned with lichen, bore the scars of storms that raged long before any crown was worn. Above, their branches formed a sheltering canopy over a tranquil grove, where ferns unfurled like green scrolls and luminescent mushrooms glimmered in soft shades of blue, mirroring a starry sky below. The air was rich with the fragrances of damp earth, cedar, and the sweet aroma of hidden blossoms, lingering like a gentle prayer.

A stream meandered through this sacred space, its waters dark as polished stone yet clear enough to mirror the towering trees above, their branches entwined in a soft embrace, sharing an ancient secret. Occasionally, a leaf would drift down, spiraling gracefully before landing on the water, like a tiny vessel embarking on a journey to a hidden destination.

Time seemed to lose its meaning here. Shadows gathered in the densest parts of the forest, hinting at paths leading into the unknown. In the distance, a low hum resonated—perhaps the creaking of wood or the deep pulse of roots drawing life from depths beyond human understanding. Standing in this realm made one feel both small and cherished; it was as if every breath taken was acknowledged, every step blessed by the quiet vigilance of the Eldertrees.

At the heart of the forest stood the oldest tree, its trunk spiraling like a colossal pillar. Its base formed a grand archway wide enough for a horse to pass through, though none dared to enter. Within that hollow, the air shimmered, as if the treeʼs essence had transcended magic—a threshold where the line between earth and eternity blurred.

This forest was more than a mere collection of trees; it symbolized patience, embodying the slow, unstoppable force of life. To witness it was to feel a bittersweet reminder of oneʼs own fleeting existence, yet also a profound gratitude for the beauty that existed and for the chance to stand, if only for a moment, in its shadow.

Suddenly, the air ʼcracked.ʼ Where stillness once reigned, reality tore open like shattered glass. The forest shuddered as space itself twisted, unleashing a whirlwind of chaos. A body was flung through the rift, crashing to the ground amidst a shower of moss and fallen leaves. It rolled, limbs flailing like a puppet severed from its strings, finally coming to rest against the roots of an Eldertree.

The man lay broken upon the ground. His frail body trembled, a canvas of devastation: one arm severed at the elbow, the stump raw and glistening; his garments hung in bloody tatters, revealing scars that narrated tales of battles fought and lost. Most alarming was a gaping wound in his abdomen, its edges pulsating with an unnatural glow as flesh slowly knitted itself together—agonizingly, as if his very cells were waging war against death. Yet, his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. He was alive.

The birds fell silent. The stream ceased its melody, as if the forest held its breath. In the sacred presence of the Eldertrees, the man felt out of place—a blemish upon this hallowed ground. His face, half-buried in the dirt, was pale but hardened by an unyielding spirit. Even in his broken state, he clung to life with fierce determination, as if he had forgotten how to surrender.

Above him, the rift sealed with a sound like melting ice, leaving only the faintest shimmer in the air. The Eldertrees groaned, their ancient branches creaking in a language older than sorrow. They had witnessed empires rise and fall, endured calamities that reshaped the world. But this—this wounded, relentless man at their feet—was something entirely new.

And far more dangerous than anything they had ever encountered. Despite his brokenness, an aura of death enveloped him, as if he and death were inseparable companions.

As they had in the past, the Eldertrees could only observe, becoming spectators at the dawn of a new tale. Perhaps this enigmatic man would bring change to a land that had long resisted it.

°°°

Alex lay still on the ground, his body in a deplorable condition. Even his remarkable regenerative powers were struggling to cope.

Externally, he appeared gravely injured, but the situation within was even more dire; a ferocious, chaotic energy was attempting to consume him from the inside.

His regenerative abilities fought valiantly against this internal threat, striving to expel it, but so far, they had not succeeded. This ongoing battle was the reason for his outward appearance. The curse imposed by the Chaos Dragon King was indeed cruel. Despite being unconscious, Alex endured indescribable pain, and if this torment continued, it would ultimately lead to his death.