Gun of Ashes

In the darkness, they couldn’t accurately judge Lorenzo’s position at all; they could only rely on the continuous gunfire to keep pace with Lorenzo’s steps, let alone that they weren’t proper warriors themselves, merely a bunch of gang members.

The dagger swung down forcefully but failed to hit Lorenzo. The arm, gripping the weapon, fell in mid-air, and the next moment, Lorenzo’s Folding Blade pierced through his throat.

Slashing horizontally, shattering along with half a body, the stench and the stale, hot air mixed together, turning into a gaseous fear.

Tasting this delicacy with each breath, and repaying it with the same shuddering.

This was Lorenzo’s victory, the victory of fear.

Others continued to attack, he detonated the steam pipeline behind Lorenzo, with a high-pitched scream, hot gas spurted out, the instant impact causing Lorenzo to stagger; this was a force that could scald a person to death, but its effect on this monster was pitifully small.

More dew condensed on the Iron Armor, flung off as he swung his sword.

People resisted in vain, but this wasn’t the most despairing; what truly brought despair was the monster they were facing.

The sparks from bullets colliding, like puzzle pieces, pieced together the image of that monster. Lorenzo was wantonly slashing, the Folding Blade taking one life after another.

Ban’er clutched the remaining Hallucinogen tightly, and began to run wildly in the darkness; this was a breakdown-inducing desperate situation where everything in the environment tormented Ban’er’s senses.

Mournful wails, fiery air, burns on the skin, internal fear.

He was going to die, going to die soon. At this moment, Ban’er finally realized his own cowardly and ridiculous self.

It’s said that people always say something brave before dying, but when that nightmare-like figure chased up, Ban’er realized how absurd his brave words had been, without any semblance of calm in the face of death. He was terrified, fleeing in panic.

He turned his head towards the terrifying darkness, gunfire like flashlights, and in the momentary brightness, Ban’er saw the blurry ghostly silhouette. In the flashes of light and shadow, he wielded the pale Folding Blade, moving at incredible speed, with each gunshot-like shutter sound, a figure fell eternally.

It was like a stop-motion animation until everyone was dead. He lifted his head, gazing towards Ban’er at the end of the darkness.

Ban’er was running with all his strength; he’d lost his ability to judge and was wandering blindly in the darkness, slipping on the stagnant water, yet quickly getting back up.

He couldn’t stop; stopping meant death. In extreme panic, Ban’er advanced along the path; he could hear the rushing water sound—he was about to reach the Lower City District.

But he stumbled, heavily falling to the ground, sharp pain emanating from his leg. He turned his head to see his leg cut by a protruding metal piece, blood flowing incessantly.

Ban’er growled lowly; he couldn’t stand, only despairingly dragged his injured leg, crawling into a corner, blood smeared on the ground. In the darkness, a rustling sound emerged, rats were eyeing him, waiting like carrion vultures for Ban’er to die.

”Get away!”

He roared to dispel the rats, but his strength was limited. He hit the ground, the pain mingling together, turning numb.

It was despairing, a day where death arrived so suddenly, without warning.

Ban’er’s eyes filled with tears; as an Exiled Person, his somewhat wretched life seemed to be about to end like this.

”My lord... my lord...”

Ban’er suddenly began to mutter in a trance, repeating it like a devout Believer.

Strange whispers echoed in his ears, as though someone were muttering something, urging Ban’er onward.

There was no hope left; he looked at the Hallucinogens. Perhaps driven by despair or pursued by fear, he reached out, injecting the Hallucinogens one by one into his body.

In a desperate situation, so-called willpower seemed so ridiculous. Ban’er could face death, but not a death filled with fear.

The drug’s effects quickly surged through his body, flooding every corner of his veins, soothing the nerves, and driving out his pain.

He felt much better, even if the deadly agony tortured him so much, he didn’t feel it anymore.

Joyful pleasure enveloped him, but Ban’er retained a sliver of awareness; Secret Blood activated within him, altering the fragile flesh. The proliferating Forbidden Power began breeding a new abnormality, and in this utterly silent darkness, Secret Blood surged within Ban’er, lighting up a pure white Beacon.

”Master... is it you?”

With death imminent, Ban’er didn’t actually believe in any Ghost God, but now experiencing all of this himself, he couldn’t help but marvel.

Gazing into the darkness before him, he could clearly sense the darkness writhing, eventually sketching out a gray-white human figure. Though there was no extra light source, Ban’er could clearly see the colors manifesting on it.

Wriggling darkness became a phantom-like shadow; that person approached Ban’er, a gentle smile on the young face.

”Master...”

Ban’er couldn’t believe it.

In this strange atmosphere, a connection crossed the material distance and arrived; the man bent down, gently stroking Ban’er’s face.

”Are you... are you real?”

Ban’er suspected it was the effect of the Hallucinogen. Under the influence of this drug, seeing anything wouldn’t be strange. But the man said,

”I am real, Ban’er.”

Ban’er hesitated slightly, then began to cry.

”I’m about to die, Master, I’m going to die...”

He lamented this destined fate.

”Don’t worry, Ban’er. As I told you, death is not the end; it is only the beginning of another journey.” He gently stroked Ban’er’s hair, like a Priest performing the last rites for the dying.

”Will we find refuge?”

”We will, eventually.” The man replied.

Ban’er’s gaze was somewhat dazed, possibly already slipping into hallucination, but quickly his eyes grew fierce again.

This might be the complexity and contradiction of human nature; he was so afraid before, but now he was so angry.

”You can’t deceive me! Master! I swore an oath!”

Ban’er shouted in anger, like a dying curse, clutching the man’s hand firmly.

”You promised us! If there is deceit, I swear I won’t forgive you!”

This was his greatest wish as an Exiled Person; if death could exchange for a place to reside, Ban’er was willing to die.

The man seemed somewhat surprised, not expecting such anger at the end of tears.

”You will ascend to the Celestial Kingdom, a Celestial Kingdom belonging only to us, your Celestial Kingdom.”

Speaking as he had promised, the man said affectionately, but no one responded anymore; Ban’er had died, the overdose of Hallucinogen killed him. Yet he lived again, the Forbidden Secret Blood dominating the body, the heavy heartbeat slowly resounding, growing increasingly urgent.

Unpermitted life radiated from him, a strange smile still lingering on his face.

Lawrence shook his head in some resignation, then stood up and looked towards another part of the darkness. Those burning eyes were slowly approaching, yet seemingly couldn’t perceive Lawrence’s presence.

”It’s been a long time...”

Lawrence lamented somewhat, and immediately broke off the connection of the [Gap]. The eerily writhing darkness dissipated, disappearing completely into the illusory consciousness as though he had never been there.

And when Lawrence awoke again from the chair, Old Dunling outside the window was still as gloomy, fire clouds covered the entire sky, iron leviathans undulated within the clouds. He got up, walked to the window, and gazed in the direction of Ban’er’s death.

The door was slightly ajar, and the Plague Doctor stood not far away, with piles of boxes beneath him, containing Hallucinogens brought by Ende.