Gun of Ashes

The raging Iron Feather plummeted in an instant, crashing against the stone pillars and the ground, sending up a thick cloud of dust. Each feather was like a long sword, slicing deeply into the surface.

Lawrence was gasping for breath, half of his body soaked in blood. This body was still too weak, moving sluggishly in his eyes.

The Iron Feather pierced through Lawrence’s shoulder and severed one of his arms. Blood gushed out uncontrollably, and it wouldn’t be long before this body would bleed to death.

The new Pope, witnessing this, instead let out a sinister laugh. Clearly, the Angel would spare none associated with the ”Truth.” Now, Lawrence and that mysterious woman had also become its enemies. Though the inner workings of these Evil Anomalies were unknown, at least for now, the new Pope was not fighting alone.

The heavy wings flapped, and the Angel skimmed low across the ground. It realized that Lawrence, being more fragile than the new Pope, was to be the first target to eliminate. Quick as lightning, it swiftly reached Lawrence.

For a moment, Lawrence was lost. In truth, from the start of all this, his cognition had been continuously shattered and reassembled.

He had painstakingly obtained the Holy Coffin and finally glimpsed the mysterious ”Holy Grail.” Yet, unexpectedly, he saw it here again — not as a cold corpse, but truly alive.

Owning ”Revelation,” Lawrence knew far more than both the new Pope and Watson. Countless theories churned in his mind, yet when he met the Angel’s blank gaze, all the chaos disappeared.

It was a sight the Plague Doctor had seen when he tried to touch the dead ”Holy Grail,” or perhaps—the Angel. He had touched the forbidden and seen the illusory Celestial Kingdom.

With a brief exchange of glances, Lawrence was captured by hallucinations. The Angel’s cold and indifferent face gradually softened, her gentle eyes as clear as a deep pool, like the most perfect woman in this world. She smiled at Lawrence, reaching out to gently caress his face, softly humming a lullaby.

A short sword cut Lawrence’s wrist, the intense pain pulling him out of the illusion, but it was too late. The beautiful woman was no longer there; only a sculpture-like, cold Angel remained. It embraced Lawrence, and in an instant, its wings folded around him, hiding any trace of him from the outside world, completely enclosing him.

A chilling sound erupted as a thousand blades intertwined in that moment, metal clashing and tearing apart, mercilessly shredding flesh, ripping apart organs and bones. Crimson blood flowed along the seams of the wings, quickly pooling into a large puddle at the Angel’s feet.

It was like a grotesque feast, but soon the writhing of the wings ceased. A sharp short sword pierced through the Angel’s back; the mangled corpse had launched its final attack. The Angel might not understand why it could break free from the illusion and why it could withstand this terrible erosion.

Then, a burning pain shot through from the wound. That short sword was coated with Holy Silver, which at this moment suppressed the Angel.

A fierce gale surged, something moved rapidly beneath the dome, and the Angel had no time for defense. In killing Lawrence, it had also trapped itself.

The blazing white Evil Ghost followed like a shadow, as Sainy Loter descended like thunder, wielding the Nail Sword.

It all happened so quickly; from the Angel assaulting Lawrence to the new Pope’s pursuit, it all transpired in a flash. The new Pope made the best decision, while the Angel had no chance to resist. Within the iron wings, the mangled corpse unleashed its final power.

It was only the pathetic body that was weak, not Lawrence’s will.

The head was nearly shredded by the Iron Feather, yet he still clung tightly to the short sword, twisting it with force. In shattering the Angel’s body, he also hastened the death of his own body.

The blazing white sword light flickered like a falling meteor. The sword slashed down along the Angel’s back, removing flesh while severing most of its wings. The new Pope struck with too much force, knowing well the terror of the Angel and aiming to kill it with this decisive blow.

The swing was too strong, and midway through the slash, the Nail Sword fractured under the strain. Yet the new Pope did not stop; he stepped forward, grasped the longest fragment, and, even as it cut his palm, held it tightly. Then he further drove it into the Angel’s body.

Deprived of the support of flesh, most of the wings fell away, revealing the corpse cut into pieces within, the flow of blood twisted. A blurred phantom stood before the Angel.

In the last moment, Lawrence abandoned this body, casting aside the pain of torn will behind him. All he thought about now was how to overthrow the Angel before him.

Now he too was someone who touched the forbidden, and the Angels would hunt him endlessly, with no choice but to counterattack.

But without a body, Lawrence reverted to a void of will, lacking a vessel to interfere in reality.

The new Pope still held the sharp fragment, standing behind the Angel. Although uncertain, through their prolonged battle, he roughly speculated that the Angel’s structure was based on a human blueprint, not so much a human, but a higher life form derived from humanity.