Gun of Ashes

Left Garrison can clearly feel the ebb of life, like a stream flowing out from all his wounds, causing this once-vibrant body to begin withering.

He is like a doll emptied of stuffing, skin tightly clinging to the bones, gaunt like a spirit that has clawed its way out of a grave.

Death permeates, the body turns crimson, covered in burns from blood corrosion, patch after patch, not a single area intact, as if skinned alive.

”It’s different...”

Left Garrison continued the whisper, like some kind of prayer or vow.

Dragging his weary body, his steps were first sluggish, then progressively faster.

Facing blades, guns, swords, and spears without pressure, perhaps even enjoying it, so much that if Left Garrison had any strength left, he might have laughed.

His life was inherently a meaningless void, and now this meaningless life is striving to create meaning.

Left Garrison doesn’t care about these things, but thinking about how this tiny effort might pave a path for others makes it not so bad.

The hard-covered Bone Spear pierced through the air, staking into the ground one by one, brushing past Left Garrison without harm, inciting flashes of crimson.

Within the crimson, Left Garrison’s silhouette halted, then began to blur and shatter, leaving only dust yet to settle.

Gone.

No, it’s Anti-Meme again, this deceitful power devours Left Garrison’s body, yet also protects him.

So potent is the Anti-Meme that even the rampant Roger can’t easily trace his actions, but Roger doesn’t worry; Left Garrison is, after all, a mortal being, even if he evades his sight, he can still do nothing.

One Folding Blade after another seems to cut and penetrate himself, ultimately all in vain.

Left Garrison is already at his limit, he cannot hide for long.

”Is it here!”

Roger shouted joyfully, countless Bone Spears viciously stabbing toward one side, blood and flesh are heard shredding, bones cracking.

”If I were younger... If you were just a mortal, or merely a Demon Hunter...”

A slightly weak voice arose.

Left Garrison turned sideways, raising a hand to minimize his exposure to Roger, evading Bone Spear’s attack; fleeting sharpness sliced his skin, but was not lethal, while the Folding Blade in his hand had pierced Roger’s heart.

Uncertain if such a monster still has something called a ”heart,” Left Garrison instinctively performed this lethal thrust, likely out of habit.

”Look, if it weren’t for monster powers, you’d be killed by me many times over, Roger Cruz.”

Left Garrison displayed a wanton smile, loudly mocking the monster.

”What of it?”

Roger looked at him, then slowly approached, allowing the Folding Blade to sink into his body, completely penetrating.

”What is the meaning?”

Roger seemed perplexed, gazed around; silver shards covered the ground, blood flowed followed by lifeless corpses.

Under absolute strength, the mortal’s defenses were effortlessly crushed; their death held no meaning, changing nothing, just another fruitless sacrifice.

Left Garrison gasped heavily, his pupils somewhat unfocused.

As a mortal, he has tried his best; the searing pain becomes clearer, the toxic blood not only corrodes his skin but is seeping into his flesh.

”I’m a bit bored, Nameless Pawn.”

Roger raised his hand, icy Bone Spike extended from fingertips like a sharp dagger.

”You know, don’t you? I just find it entertaining, if I wish, I have many ways to kill you.”

Power trembles, the crown on Left Garrison’s head shakes, dense cracks spread on it, yet haven’t shattered completely.

”Fire burns, sword cuts, Gap invasion... So many ways to snuff out a life.”

The sharp Bone Spike slowly sunk into Left Garrison’s chest; his heartbeat grew more erratic, his expression frozen, reflecting on something unknown.

”Beg for mercy?”

Roger judged the cowardly mortal.

”Asking will let you live and gain this power, sounds good, doesn’t it?”

After a long pause, Left Garrison finally moved.

He withdrew his hand, pulling the Folding Blade from Roger’s body, blood splattered onto his hand, raising wisps of thin smoke; yet he seemed unaffected by the pain.

Left Garrison lost the will to fight, face colored with death, hands fell weakly, the blade resting on the ground, unarmed.

Roger’s voice grew increasingly distorted, as if no longer himself, but a composite of unknown, numerous horrors.

A blend of seductive woman’s joyful, shrill cry, interspersed with child’s murmur, and old man’s whisper.

Spine-chilling.

”Does this count as dying in a foreign land?”

Left Garrison comprehended reality, exhaled deeply, seemingly expelling all air from his lungs, leaving his chest sunken, skeletal.

If he had only been aging before, now he seemed like a corpse, a desiccated, decaying one.

”How sad, in our Jiuxia, there’s a strong belief in returning home like fallen leaves.”

Left Garrison squinted, in a moment of trance seemed to glimpse that golden lake.

This is a battle with a predetermined outcome, a battle without suspense.

Roger could feel, the old man before him is dying, he should have died long ago, held only by wrath, moving like a zombie in madness.