Gun of Ashes

Before Owes could continue speaking, a sedative was injected into his body.

The drug quickly numbed his nerves, yet he still stared at Merlin steadfastly, that unyielding hand clinging to his clothing like a steel clamp, refusing to let go, until the doctors forcibly separated them.

”I can keep going... Merlin.”

These were the last words Owes spoke, like the final struggle of a drowning man.

Merlin watched the boy with some trepidation, Owes had always been steady, this was the first time he’d seen him in such a state.

”What happened.”

He asked the doctors who had restrained Owes.

The doctors, wearing thick masks, answered Merlin’s inquiry.

”According to the protocols for protecting Lancelot, once the alarm sounded, we entered to protect him... but he was already on the ground, convulsing in pain.

One of the doctors described the scene.

”Before we could do anything to help, he got better, and then escaped. It’s hard to imagine he could move to such an extent.”

”And what about his level of erosion? Have you re-examined him?”

”No, he might be having trouble accepting reality, possibly experiencing delusions.”

The doctor replied.

”Hmm... I understand.”

Merlin said with some headache.

Owes was dragged back to the Perpetual Motion Pump by the doctors, but no one noticed the slight lift at the corner of his mouth, as if something had given him strength and confidence, driving him to obsession.

...

The entire world seemed to be twisting.

For some reason, after killing Horner and leaving that eerie Gap, a vague force seemed to torment Lorenzo.

It was a mental impact Lorenzo had never faced before.

He walked down a somewhat crowded street, the bustling of Old Dunling resistant even to the cold winter wind, amid the hustle and bustle, Lorenzo felt an unprecedented exhaustion and pain.

”What... what is happening to me?”

Leaning against the wall of an alley, Lorenzo sat down weakly, his whole vision becoming chaotic.

That strange Gap, he killed that person there, and the externalized demon died too.

There was a connection between the two, Lorenzo was about to touch that truth.

But it felt like something was scratching from within his body, crawling outward bit by bit, pressing against his throat, leaving Lorenzo with the painful feeling of suffocation, forcing him to gasp heavily, with no time to think further.

The demon hunter still had not realized how bad his condition was, his cheeks pale as if from blood loss, pupils dilated, various hallucinations appearing, though he had not noticed the hallucinations themselves.

At this moment, Horner’s memories kept flashing back in his mind, that shattered life clashing with Lorenzo’s will, then slowly fusing, as if forcibly piecing together two distinct lives into a new one.

”He looks terrible.”

Someone asked with concern.

”He’ll get better.”

Another person said.

”Really?”

”He’s been through this before.”

”But apparently he forgot.”

”It’s because of you.”

”...”

It seemed like someone was talking by his ear, discussing him, the voices blurred as if stretched into sharp noises by a strong wind, barely discernible, Lorenzo opened his eyes wide but couldn’t see anyone, as if it was a figment of his imagination.

The brief rest seemed to give him some strength, he stood up with effort, feeling as if his mind had been struck heavily, utterly chaotic.

But suddenly, an eerie sense of familiarity surged in his heart, as if he had experienced similar things many years ago, Lorenzo’s thoughts were equally chaotic, but he couldn’t remember, the taste of past memories flooded his nostrils, it was the cold sea breeze.

The forgotten scenes gradually resurfaced, like puzzle pieces fitting together one by one.

He remembered that distant route, coming from the far-away Florence.

Back then he was like this... seemed like this, maybe because it was too long ago, Lorenzo wasn’t sure of the past memories anymore.

It was then that he arrived in Old Dunling, starting that new life under the identity of Lorenzo Holmes.

Suddenly scarlet blood dripped down, falling on the cold ground, corroding it like strong acid, a faint white vapor rising.

Blood stained his hands, Lorenzo covered his nose, but couldn’t stop the blood from flowing.

”He... like you.”

”That indescribable form of existence.”

In the silence, people whispered.

Their silhouettes blurred into an indistinguishable gray mass by the mist, unreachable.

”Yes, indeed, sometimes, the body is a shackle.”

”Once bound to a body, a fleeting will finds an anchor, thus abstract concepts gain tangibility.”

They discussed.

”Nonexistent entities, once tangible, can be observed, can be killed.”

Who was it?

Lorenzo endured a headache, trying to find the direction of the voice.

Like an ancient, arcane whispering, a group of people looking down at him from on high.

This was truly displeasing.

Who are you?

The phantom shadows noticed Lorenzo’s gaze, quieting down.

”Hush...”

As if fearing to disturb some slumbering existence, the voice disappeared, and at that moment the world inside his mind seemed to quieten completely, as if he lost his hearing altogether.

Then the street started twisting and deforming, century-old cobblestones began to crack, cold soil overturning the surface, corroded pipes torn by nameless forces, steam and waste water chaotically discharged.

This all resembled a magnificent painting, with a giant hand tearing it apart, thus the world within the painting was destroyed too, amidst the desolate white tide Lorenzo saw him, that distant scarlet shadow.

”Law... rence.”

He tried to grasp the Nail Sword but couldn’t touch it.

In his vision, Dean Lawrence seemed to sense the abnormality too, slowly turning his head, and just as he was about to see Lorenzo, Lorenzo was about to find him too, but in the next second, the scarlet shadow vanished.

In the shattered memories, a sealed fragment was stirred again, piercing into Lorenzo’s body.

As if in free fall, under an endless descent, Lorenzo landed heavily on the ground, this might be an illusion, but the pain felt all too real.

Before him was that deep black well... Lorenzo remembered it, the Well of Ascension where secret blood was refined.

Then... does that mean...

He suddenly raised his head, a familiar dome came into view, this was the Static Holy Temple, long destroyed, yet now still solemn, as if it had never experienced the chaos of the Night of the Holy Arrival.

Perhaps to say... the Night of the Holy Arrival had not yet begun.

He fell into some weird recollection, like when he was deeply trapped in the Nightmare Illusion.

”We should begin, Medanzo has already led the demon hunters to guard outside the Saint Nalos Cathedral, the guards here are left to you.”

Someone arrived, speaking to Lorenzo, it was that familiar figure, anger and cold rising together.

It was Dean Lawrence.

Lorenzo’s first reaction was to raise the Nail Sword, but he found himself unable to do anything... he couldn’t control himself, this was a past that had already occurred, that memory buried deep in his heart.

But amid the pain, new questions arose, whose memory is this? Why would he recall it now, and what indeed is happening?

No one answered Lorenzo, everything felt powerless, until he remembered that forbidden name.

”Watson...”

He called out the devil’s name, thus ending the illusion.

The world returned to normal, or rather Lorenzo’s bizarre delusion ended.

The Gap that nearly built a bridge was interrupted, the deeply dug memories were buried again.

The lost sounds resumed, amidst the silence it was like a torrent crashing against the eardrums, releasing accumulated rhythms together.

The enclosing dome vanished, the gloomy sky of Old Dunling once again ruled the heavens.

Amid the blur, Lorenzo saw someone approaching him, the sound of footsteps echoed, the person running swiftly.

Then the Nail Sword propping him up shattered, he could no longer maintain his posture, collapsing down.