Gun of Ashes

He stepped forward, ignoring the attacks from the War Airship. The disintegrating metal fell upon him, only managing to push him slightly back, completely unable to cause him any harm.

Absolute power governed everything, Roger was about to reach Percival. The scorching temperature pressed down on her, making it hard to breathe, and soon she felt another wave of intense heat.

Something was coming, from the sky above, like a falling sun.

A sharp screech suddenly erupted, spreading out, instantly destroying everyone’s hearing.

Percival could only see a streak of blazing white distorted into a trail of light, flashing by like thunder, exploding in front of her, separating her from Roger.

Embers floated on the sharp Nail Sword; it pierced through the layers of Armor, stabbing downward through the gaps, penetrating flesh and bone, finally emerging from Roger’s back. The blood didn’t even have a chance to drip before it was vaporized, the scent of blood lingering in the air.

”Hello, Roger Cruz.”

A hoarse, menacing voice sounded, standing in superiority on the same iron mount as Roger. He gripped the Nail Sword tightly, continuously exerting force, crushing Roger’s body, pressing the sword that went through his body bit by bit into the ground, nailing him down.

”Lorenzo Holmes.”

From under the rugged, pitch-black Face Armor, came the sound of an evil, anomalous laugh.

Roger reached out and grabbed the Nail Sword that pierced through his body, casually gripping it, and heard the sound of steel cracking.

The intense heat swept through, and instead of being expelled, the broken blade embedded in his body fused with the menacing armor, becoming one gray-black entity. He swung the long nail, causing Lorenzo to be jolted upward and backward.

Without any assistance, Roger’s twisted silhouette stood up, staring at Lorenzo from afar.

The calm only lasted for a few seconds before the two collided again with such speed that Percival couldn’t even see their movements, only able to judge everything through the delayed rumble and flickering firelight.

The sharp metal cuts into each other, Armor shatters and reforms, and then collapses again, blood spilling but immediately evaporated before hitting the ground...

This was like a constantly repeating cycle of bloodshed, only when one side was completely crushed could it end.

Another sharp sound echoed, and the two figures rapidly bounced apart, one crashing into the depths of the corridor, the other remaining in place, standing amidst the flames.

They seemed to have determined a victor. Percival looked towards the sea of fire, only to see the person slowly turn around, and Percival’s heart plunged into an icy abyss.

The pitch-black armor was filled with broken Nail Swords, fused with the hard material, sprawling over the rugged armor, as if he were a monster adorned with arrowed feathers and long spears.

It was Roger, Roger Cruz.

Percival and Roger’s eyes met; she retreated, but there was no way back.

A grappling hook shot over, embedding right beside Percival’s foot. She looked over; this was aid from the Iron Whale. She grabbed the grappling hook tightly.

”See you next time, Percival.”

The voice lingered in her ear, and Roger waved at Percival, emitting a spine-chilling laugh.

Roger did not continue the pursuit. He watched Percival being taken away from the high tower by the Iron Whale and then turned to walk towards the depths of the sea of fire, holding the long nail, searching for Lorenzo’s tracks.

”Lorenzo Holmes!”

Roger shouted his name, twirling the long nail in his hands. The mottled surface bore scratches and dried blood stains, tracing thin marks on the crimson wall.

He was going to kill Lorenzo and utterly crush his arrogance.

Suddenly, he turned his head and looked behind a wall, shouting loudly.

”Are you here?”

With his shout, the wall cracked, and a sharp Nail Sword viciously stabbed out.

Roger didn’t intend to defend himself, letting it strike him, shattering his Armor, while he swung the long nail, exchanging wound for wound, tearing a massive gash in Lorenzo’s chest.

Indeed, it was still a futile effort. Lorenzo fell to one side. His arrival was merely to provide Roger with a barely decent opponent. Trying to kill him was still too difficult.

But... maybe not.

The two figures quickly widened the gap. Lorenzo’s silhouette was somewhat disheveled, stumbling to the ground.

Lorenzo raised his head with difficulty from the ruins. He looked at the menacing figure in the sea of flames and, for some reason, felt it was slightly different from when he first encountered Roger.

At that time, Roger, clad in Holy Silver Armor, was so powerful, bringing suppressive power. But now, Lorenzo had some capability to fight back.

Something was not right.

His eyes narrowed, Lorenzo saw that his attacks were not ineffective. The dense Armor was covered with fine cracks, beneath which blood was seeping.

Roger was not as strong as before, or perhaps he was being limited by something.

He still had a slight chance; he couldn’t kill Roger, but he could push him back.

However, an immense sense of doubt engulfed Lorenzo. Even if he drove Roger back this time, what difference would it make? Roger would inevitably return, and under such a war of attrition, Old Dunling would eventually become a haven for Demons. Not to mention Roger’s limitations — were they real, or were they deliberately created vulnerabilities?

The doubt became more intense, and Lorenzo began to realize the mistake in all of this.

A blazing fire erupted in the Death Row, something was wrong; it was wrong from the start.

The high-rise built on this flawed foundation was also leaning.

For a moment, Lorenzo almost forgot the conflict before him, dominated by the vast void in his mind.

He was about to touch the blank space behind the void but was blocked by some unknown force.

Enough, don’t think too much about it.

Lorenzo stood up, his gaze lowered, he touched the angular object in his arms. This was his last reliance, his ace to disregard all factors.

This was like a grand gamble, but as long as it was still there, Lorenzo could transcend the rules at any time and flip the table.

The Nail Swords in the sword bag were almost all damaged. Lorenzo took out the last two and threw the sword bag into a nearby fire pile.

The Nail Swords unfolded along his sides, like Iron Feathers spreading their wings.

Lorenzo walked towards Roger, the Secret Blood breaching its critical point, mutations manifesting on his body.

The intensity of the corrosion continued to climb and spread, mist rolling, as if a thunderstorm was brewing here.

All around, more complex noises arose, as if a pack of wolves were charging towards here, until the shadows began to wriggle, and Demons leapt out.

Lorenzo lightly dropped the Nail Sword. Upon contact, flesh was sliced, the extreme heat sweeping over, burning the Demons into ashy white dust, falling and piling up.

He still had strength remaining, still had feasible power to engage in combat and wrestling.

The noise reached its peak, more Demons rushed out from the shadows — they were all personnel who hadn’t had time to evacuate. Under the intense corrosion from Lorenzo and Roger, they mutated into Demons, then surged towards Lorenzo. More terrifyingly, the same blazing white rolled in their pupils.

Just like Lawrence’s.

Then, is this Roger’s true form?

Lorenzo wondered. He had seen such power on Lawrence, simultaneously eroding multiple targets. Lorenzo had also tried to drive the Black Angel like this, but the mental pressure was immense.

Roger was not as terrifyingly strong as before, perhaps because of this reason. What Lorenzo saw now was just one of his many carrier bodies; the real him was still hidden in Old Dunling.

If so, Lorenzo still had a chance to win.

He couldn’t kill the powerful Roger, but destroying one of his numerous carrier bodies wasn’t impossible either.

This counted as Lorenzo and Roger’s first direct confrontation, without Anonymous’s aid, without the Purification Mechanism’s fire support, just a one-on-one match between himself and Roger.

Blankness.

He no longer thought of other matters, emptying his mind, leaving only the instinct to fight.

Lorenzo took large strides forward.

Brandishing the Nail Sword, he drew a blazing sun.