Gun of Ashes

”Lawrence! Lawrence!”

On the battlefield shrouded in smoke, the man called out nonchalantly, as if he were looking for a lost friend, yet everywhere around were remnants of iron and flames that had not yet died down.

His friend seemed rather unlucky, having gotten lost in such a cursed place.

Faintly, he heard a whimpering sound and quickly made his way toward it, kicking aside the charred iron, still carrying the warmth of fire.

”What a mess...”

The man frowned. Beneath the iron remnants was a heap of indistinct flesh, charred and mingled together, creating a bizarre and sickening odor.

”Ah... the Purification Mechanism is coming. We should get going.”

The man reached out his hand hesitantly, but seeing the growing shadows at the battlefield’s edge, he plunged his hand into the flesh, retrieving something from within.

...

”This has truly been a monumental failure.”

In the dim cabin, the Plague Doctor muttered to himself.

The cabin was now drastically different from when he first arrived, cold gas forming a milky sea of vapor that undulated gently at ground level, each step raising splashes.

It was like a scene from some strange ritual, corners stacked with burning candles, crimson wax flowing like blood on the floor, intermingling with the cold vapor, akin to warm sunlight in clouds, shimmering with gentle radiance.

The Plague Doctor turned to grab another vial, casually observing his ”laboratory,” which he was extremely fond of.

Huge containers lined either side of the cabin, their lighting unable to illuminate the objects within, only shadows of something sinister could be vaguely seen, trapped in cold slumber.

Near the operation table hung several dangling hooks, one of which supported a barely alive Demon. Its body cruelly dissected, sharp claws removed one by one, yet it remained alive, its heart faintly pulsing like livestock awaiting slaughter.

Despite the Demon’s ferocious nature, not even this would quench its bloodlust; however, the Plague Doctor was an adept physician. Thin silver pins pierced its major joints, and ducts were connected to major vessels, pumping in tranquilizers spreading throughout its body.

Thus, the terrifying creature became as docile as a kitten, allowing the Plague Doctor’s scalpel to fall upon it, uttering only meaningless moans.

”Not only did you fail to take over the Demon Hunter’s body, you didn’t successfully erode the Stuart group, and you even ended up dead yourself.”

The Plague Doctor shook his head while speaking.

”A complete loss indeed.”

Gazing at the Demon, the Plague Doctor spoke with a hint of mockery.

”This isn’t like you, Lawrence. I always thought whatever you set your mind to, you’d succeed.”

”Shut up.”

A frail voice emanated from within the Demon.

”All right, all right, I’ll stop talking.”

The Plague Doctor chuckled maliciously, then used a hook to pull apart the Demon’s flesh, revealing the twisted insides.

It was an incomprehensible scene of desecration, misshapen organs squashed together, pulsating slowly with each heartbeat amidst a bloody mess. Within it lay a near-charred lump of flesh, eyes crushed in the final battle by Lorenzo, vaguely recognizable as a human head amidst the grotesque.

”Phew, I never expected this technique could really work, but it still can’t save you, Lawrence. Your remaining lifespan can be measured in hours now.”

The Plague Doctor surveyed the nauseating scene, feeling no discomfort, instead nodding in satisfaction—it was, to him, a perfect work of art.

After the explosion, unnoticed in a secluded corner, the Plague Doctor had secretly arrived at the battlefield, later finding the nearly dead Lawrence amidst a wreckage of train debris.

Just as Lorenzo found a sliver of survival through Demonization, Lawrence underwent the same process, but to kill a Demon, destroying the heart was far from enough.

The Plague Doctor picked up the charred head, akin to grafting a plant, temporarily transplanting him onto the Demon’s body, harnessing Demonization’s power to use the Demon’s organ and circulatory systems to sustain the head’s survival.

This technique had only ever been a theoretical medical concept, originally intended for situations where a severed limb couldn’t be immediately addressed, or a more urgent condition required temporarily grafting the limb onto the body’s stomach, connecting blood vessels to maintain circulation and viability, before reattaching the limb when conditions permitted.

Though unsure if a severed head could be reattached, with a pioneering spirit in medicine and biology, the Plague Doctor’s reckless operation somehow managed to temporarily revive Lawrence, or rather, maintain his near-death state.

But it wasn’t enough. It was a stopgap measure, and Lawrence lacked Watson’s mysterious powers or the Holy Grail’s flesh to easily succumb to him; everything now was merely the Plague Doctor’s extension of him.

”Stop wasting time, Plague Doctor. Do what you must, I’m nearing my end.”

Lawrence’s voice was extremely weak, maintaining his Demonization growing increasingly difficult, poised to lose sanity and become an object of abhorrence.

”Okay, okay, I know.”

The Plague Doctor said slowly, showing no urgency.

He moved to the side, where machines roared with the turn of gears, the water within the container being drained, and then the temperature began to rise.

The container opened, a pallid body tumbling out, but before it hit the ground, the Plague Doctor caught it in his arms.