Gun of Ashes

This is a war, a war between religion and belief, interspersed with the conspiracies and tricks of big players, as well as the entangled grudges and intrigues.

Yet it was this incredibly serious matter that was disrupted by Eve and Red Falcon, these two clumsy thieves.

Eve swung Meteor like a crowbar, knocking down a believer rushing towards her. Ever since opening fire, the barrel became scorching hot, with faint cracks on the surface—it’s unclear whether it’s due to overheating from the gunfire or Eve’s swinging. It seems the lifespan of this thing is only enough for a few shots.

Sure enough, the Perpetual Motion Pump folks are really unreliable. Eve should have realized this earlier—rather than using this weapon, she would sneak beside Miguel and slice his neck.

”So do you usually encounter such unexpected situations?”

Eve shouted loudly, only then could her voice surpass the chaotic sounds surrounding her.

Now it felt like a frenzied party or perhaps a death ritual of the Evil God’s descent, where fire and blood reflected against each other—red and ferocious everywhere.

To be honest, there was a familiar feeling at this moment, Eve actually recalled her first encounter with Lorenzo, to be precise, their first cooperative combat.

That bloody ball.

The more Eve thought about it, the more similar everything seemed. Back then, people immersed in the hallucinogen had the same madness and desires as these believers.

”Unexpected? For us, unexpected is the norm. You never know where a demon might jump out and bite you, or a comrade who was just chatting casually grows fierce horns and becomes an enemy.”

Red Falcon appeared seasoned, wielding the Folding Blade left and right, driving back those mindless guys one by one.

”Embrace it, Eve, not everything goes smoothly; we encounter all sorts of unexpected events, and might even lose our lives.”

Red Falcon was clearly in the zone, incessant ”accidents” made him feel his world was utterly absurd.

Though wounded in many places, with only one arm left to wield, it still couldn’t limit Red Falcon.

In terms of combat power, he had always compared with monster-like guys like Lorenzo, yet now facing these ordinarily mad folks—not even actual demons, Red Falcon displayed his might.

As somewhat of a seasoned knight of the Purification Mechanism, battle-hardened, he was like a torrent—no attack could hit him. Twisting left and right, the flowing water solidified into ice, piercing through their throats.

Without hesitation, Folding Blade was steady as always. Killing, for Red Falcon, had long ceased to be a burden; it was just work, and he excelled at doing his job.

He wasn’t bound by morality or ethics…logically, people like him should be locked up for life in prison; the entire Purification Mechanism was like that.

Yet, it’s somewhat intriguing upon reflection—somewhat incredible for people to imagine that those protecting the world are actually a bunch of maniacs and psychos, with those two tags often overlapping.

”You need to think carefully, Eve,” Red Falcon suddenly said.

”Think about what?”

Eve followed closely behind him; the chaotic crowd and the two factions killing each other, along with the recent explosion, provided them a moment of reprieve.

Indeed, a testimony to Arthur’s daughter, Eve, albeit a novice, was seasoned like Red Falcon, precise and ruthless, giving no chance for an enemy to approach.

”Consider joining the Purification Mechanism.”

Red Falcon, gripping the Folding Blade, continued slashing as his gaze fell upon the burnt-red night sky.

Killing was a heavy deed, yet Red Falcon’s heart felt light, joyful—even like a psychopath.

Red Falcon immersed again in the slaughter, battling these guys who might or might not be enemies, vigorously swinging his arms, slicing Folding Blade through tender flesh one after another.

A familiar feeling indeed.

Smelling the blood scent at the tip of his nose, Red Falcon suddenly felt eerily—it seemed more and more like that beautiful afternoon meeting with Erin was a dream; these things were false, only this slaughter felt real.

Such battles alone defined his life; all prior differences vanished, he felt his life aligned in this moment.

Yes, this life was normal life, occasionally hacking and slashing, sneering at enemy corpses while cracking cold jokes, occasionally collecting corpses for teammates.

Continuing this joyous bloody life until one day, he himself joined the ranks of corpses.

At times, Red Falcon wondered if he was already dead and merely a moving corpse.

On the surface, Red Falcon yearned for peace, yet his heart was long twisted into something else—he knew well he couldn’t blend into ordinary life; this was a broken path with no turning back from the start.

He would die in some battle rather than peacefully sleeping in a warm bed—all he did now was wait for that day to arrive.

Red Falcon was a living dead; this distorted, grotesque world was the home for his kind.

”Eve, you need to really consider this,”

Gone were the smiles and laughter, rare for Red Falcon to get serious, speaking with a solemn expression.