Gun of Ashes

Damn Lorenzo, just thinking about him pissed Buscalo off, as if all the misfortunes began from then.

”I’m not you! The great writer, I’m a doctor, a damned doctor! The most dangerous weapon I’ve used is a scalpel!”

Buscalo growled lowly, he had indeed tried just now, but he didn’t even know how to use firearms.

Oscar was indifferent, raising his sword, pointing at the Demon, and then the end of the misty rain.

”Buscalo, your wife is at the end of this street, right?”

Hearing this, Buscalo’s heart skipped a beat.

”No one will save you forever... Next, we all have missions to do, which are far more important than saving a few citizens. You might have to walk the last path by yourself. So without us, what would you do?”

Oscar squinted his eyes, not sure if he was observing Buscalo or wary of the bleeding Demon slowly approaching.

”Speak up! Will you stand there shivering, listening to your wife’s wails, and soon you too will be caught in the same wail? Or will you act like a man, pick up this hand axe, and kill that damned thing?”

Buscalo struggled to raise his head, only to see Oscar stretching out his hand, holding the hand axe in front of him.

”Are you helping me? Giving me the courage to face my wife?” Buscalo seemed to understand Oscar’s intention.

”Yes, and by the way, kill a Demon. Remember, it’s a Demon; ordinary people don’t get the chance to kill a Demon in their lifetime.”

Even in such circumstances, Oscar was animated.

Buscalo fought against fear, gripping the hand axe tightly like a hunt, reaching the end of the road where a winner would emerge between the hunter and the prey.

”But Oscar, is everything you said just now true?”

In this tense moment, Buscalo, as if infected, started speaking nonsense.

Maybe it was the reason for making a decision, the fear in Buscalo’s heart slowly faded as he tightly grasped the axe handle, yet he remained very curious about what Oscar said.

He found it hard to believe that the drunkard, who was recently drunk with him, would have such an exciting life.

”If you read my book, you’d find this line in a corner.”

Oscar carried his sword, walking ahead of Buscalo.

”What?”

”This story is adapted from real events, with a certain degree of artistic enhancement!”

The final words were shouted out.

Oscar was well aware of his situation. He was old, his muscles were not as powerful as in his youth, nor was his stamina. He couldn’t swing the sword many times, nor could he engage in sustained combat. He had only a dozen or so seconds to erupt with all his strength to kill the Demon in front of him.

The distance between them grew closer and closer until calm broke.

The Demon chose to pounce, leaping forcefully, its silhouette blocking all light. Oscar, at that moment, rolled hard to the side, rain hindering him, making his movements a bit slow, yet he still narrowly evaded the Demon’s attack.

But the Demon was stronger than him, reacting faster than Oscar, leaving him with few chances.

Gripping the sword handle tightly, Oscar shouted, stabbing the long sword into the Demon’s side, then kicking his knee heavily, slamming on the end, making it advance further.

The Demon screamed, Oscar screamed too, thanking his encounter with Buscalo, realizing finally it wasn’t any special power but rheumatism.

Turning around, swinging its sharp claws, the razor end brushed past Oscar’s chest, tearing clothes, leaving a thin blood mark on his chest. A bit deeper would mean Oscar’s demise.

The thrill of death echoed in the mind, Oscar showed no fear, revealing an excited expression.

Something lost in a comfortable life was rediscovered at the brink of life and death.

”Buscalo!”

He shouted.

No voice responded, but under the rain, Buscalo acted with intent.

Buscalo gripped the hand axe tightly, during the Demon and Oscar’s struggle, he had reached the Demon’s back, enduring fear and bloodlust, he raised the hand axe, utilizing all his strength.

”It’s like a surgery.”

He whispered, comforting himself, it was like a very ordinary surgery. Now he must amputate the patient, to reduce pain and bleeding, he must swing swiftly.

The chaos of consciousness was gone, and Buscalo was clearer than ever before.

The Demon before him was no longer strange; following the contours of its rising limbs, he seemed to see the bones beneath its flesh and the fascia connecting them...

”Hah!”

Buscalo shouted fiercely, as if to shatter the fear, cleaving the Demon before him.

The axe blade viciously cleaved through the Demon’s waist and abdomen, its tough ribs breaking one by one. Flesh and entrails shattered, and the strength was so great that it cleaved into the spine, embedding deeply into the Demon’s body.

An ear-piercing wail sounded, and Buscalo, bloodied all over, stood in a daze. At that moment, as the Demon turned and swung its deadly claws, just as it was about to be slain, the raised claw halted, unable to descend further.

It was Oscar who had grabbed the Demon by the armpit, his longsword piercing through, wedging the blade firmly into the shoulder joint. Thus, the raised arm could not descend. The more the Demon exerted its strength, the deeper the blade cut into the flesh.

”Well done, Buscalo!”

Oscar flipped onto the Demon’s body, engaging in close combat with it. It was as if he were entangled by a python, with sharp claws constantly slipping and deadly fangs trying to devour Oscar, while its scarlet tongue flailed.

”Silence!”

Oscar shouted aloud.

He grabbed the flailing tongue, holding his breath and exerting force. This old man was incredibly strong; with the sound of ripping flesh, he forcibly pulled the tongue out of the Demon’s mouth.

Narrow streams of blood sprayed, but this was not the end. Oscar continued to issue commands.

”Don’t stop!”

Upon hearing this, Buscalo, biting hard, thrust his hands into the Demon’s wounds, grasping the axe handle once more amidst the bloody mess.

He growled, and the Demon wailed.

Oscar sat astride its neck, punching repeatedly at the wound he had previously slashed open.

Each punch was delivered with all of Oscar’s might. Initially, he could still feel the pain on his fist, but soon the splattered dark blood not only covered the Demon’s wound but also coated his fist.

”Fall down for me!”

Oscar roared in anger, and with the final punch, he forcefully broke the Demon’s tough cervical vertebrae, its head drooping, spurting large amounts of fresh blood from its mouth.

But the Demon was not yet dead; it frantically struggled, throwing Oscar off and driving back Buscalo. However, before being driven back, Buscalo pulled out the embedded Hand Axe.

It was like opening the drain of a reservoir, as blood gushed unstoppably from the gaping wound, along with fetid entrails.

The Demon’s movement faltered a few steps, half-kneeling into the pooled water, its voice weakening, like a lion besieged by jackals reaching the end of its life.

”Aim for its chest, Buscalo, and smash its heart.”

Oscar clambered up from the pooled water. The Demon before him no longer posed much threat; its head was broken, its arm locked by the longsword, its innards gutted, leaving only a shriveled carcass.

This time Buscalo said nothing. He raised the Hand Axe once more, cautiously approaching the Demon.

The tranquility lasted only a few seconds before a resounding roar erupted, as if to expel his very soul. Buscalo’s face turned red with exertion.

Blow after blow.

He was like a crazed butcher, no longer merely hacking; instead, he was smashing with a blunt edge, breaking through flesh, breaking bones, shattering his fear, shattering this damn alcohol.

Layer upon layer collapsed until the entire chest was smashed into a bloody mess, including the heart that once beat within, crushed, pierced by broken bones, riddled with wounds.

Finally, Buscalo stopped, a grotesque corpse lying before him, while he was bathed in fresh blood.

It was as if he was reborn.

To this, Oscar laughed heartily.

”Run, Buscalo!”

He shouted to his old friend.

”Whether it’s to save a beauty or face death together! Just go, Buscalo, go back to your family!”

Run! Run!

They stood up from the pooled water, running towards the end of the rain-misted path.