Gun of Ashes

The custom room remained the same, yet the atmosphere was oppressively somber. With the alarm lifted, the locked door had been unsealed again, but the closed heart had not reopened.

Owes stared blankly at the ceiling, his mind a tangled mess, chaotic, yet seemingly empty.

Suddenly he desired to move. He no longer wanted to lie on this bed. His slender arms tried to support him up; it was difficult but achievable. He exerted all his strength to crawl out of bed, his legs trembling slightly as they touched the ground.

He breathed heavily, as if just this action had drained all his energy. A slight sting came from the joints, but it was still bearable for him.

Owes wanted to go out and see. He suddenly realized he had stayed in the Perpetual Motion Pump for so long, yet he barely left to look around, only staying in this room, waiting to go on tasks when called.

Speaking of tasks, perhaps this was Owes’ happiest time. Hidden within the armor, he was free. Then, he was no longer this frail body but the Lancelot that could tear through steel.

But now, he was no longer that.

Clutching his head, intense stabbing pain emanated from his mind, as though something was ripping through his skull, like an insect violently stirring, gnawing at his skull, trying to grind its way out from his brain.

The erosion by the Demons continued to gnaw at his will. Not just due to the unconsciousness within the armor, but Lawrence the Dean’s final surge of erosion that even a Demon Hunter could not withstand, let alone Owes in his mortal body.

That high-intensity erosion accelerated his decline, as if countless Demons were screaming beside his ears, sharp claws repeatedly slicing through his body.

Owes fell helplessly to the ground, struggling; when pain reached its pinnacle, it became utter tranquility. A sharp buzzing filled his ears, followed by gradually approaching footsteps.

Tap, tap, tap...

The footsteps were clear; someone had arrived.

It should be Owes’ caretaker. They might have discovered the strange noises inside the room, but then he noticed something odd, no sound of the door opening...

Owes barely lifted his head and saw a face he could have never imagined.

”It’s... you!”

The nightmare broke free from his mind, descending into reality.

The person did not bother to conceal their intentions. The tattered crimson robe fluttered without wind, elderly white hair hung down, the sharp Nail Sword revealing a corner, reflecting onto Owes’ face.

”How... could it be...”

Owes supported himself on the ground with his hands, trying to stand but fell down powerlessly, until that person walked right in front of him.

”Owes? Or should I call you Lancelot?”

Lawrence the Dean asked with a smile, the old wrinkles twisted together like a withered tree.

”No... how could it be?”

Owes couldn’t comprehend. How could he appear inside the Perpetual Motion Pump? How did he manage this?

”Are you wondering how I came here?”

Owes widened his eyes, pupils dilating slightly, breathing rapidly.

”You know what I’m thinking?”

His entire heart turned cold, as if entangled by a venomous snake.

Lawrence the Dean still wore that amiable smile, nodding gently. One hand lifted Owes’ throat, fixing it like a metal clamp, while the other raised the Nail Sword.

”Yes, child, of course, I know what you’re thinking. After all... I am from here.”

The cold tip of the Nail Sword pressed against his forehead, applying pressure to pierce inside.

Both the sound and the pain seemed amplified a hundredfold. Owes could clearly feel the skin being torn open, blood oozing out, that cold metal inching into his brain, finally touching his solid skull, and then he pushed harder.

As if prying open a can, the Nail Sword pierced beneath the skull. Ultimately, it wasn’t pain anymore; instead, it was the most primal human fear. Owes tried to scream, but his throat was clamped tight, reducing it to meaningless howls, like a dying wild dog.

As if an execution, blood submerged the Nail Sword, dripping onto the ground, only fear slowly fermenting in despair.

No one heard his screams, nor could anyone save him. If at this moment there were another observer in the room, they would find Owes merely lying dazed on the floor, with no Lawrence the Dean, no Nail Sword or bloodstains, only him twitching slightly in agony on the ground.

...

Perpetual Motion Pump, live Demon containment room number four.

In order to conduct various experiments on Demons, the Perpetual Motion Pump also detained a number of Demons, soaking them in Neutralizing Liquid in water cells, weakening their corrosive emissions, with containment rooms equipped with contingency measures.

Like a haunted zoo, but the animals inside were exhibits from Hell.

Merlin and Arthur walked one behind the other in this massive containment room, more like a huge workshop, with extensive suspended corridors crisscrossing here, beneath which numbered serial Demons sat, with heavy artillery watchtowers above. Once Demons showed any anomalies, all the aqueous solutions were first electrified, followed by opening fire.

”Not just Mr. Holmes, we’ve also gained a lot in other areas.”

Arthur spoke with a mix of delight and concern.