Gun of Ashes

”So, where exactly did it go wrong?”

After several hours, the Plague Doctor descended disappointedly from the operating table, blood clotted into lumps of dark coagulation on his robe. He pulled the curtain aside and returned to his desk, staring out at the storm through the porthole, lost in thought.

At this moment, it was not just a matter of willpower; a new issue struck the Plague Doctor.

Upon reaching the end of evolution, completing ”Ascension,” am I still myself?

Much like when humans become Demons, in the Plague Doctor’s view this is another form of evolution. But once transformed into Demons, original human will is erased; while gaining power, they also turn into vicious beasts.

Might ”Ascension” be the same? Gaining something, only to immediately lose something else.

This time, the Plague Doctor did not open the drawer; instead, he lifted a heavy safe from beneath the table. It appeared aged, despite careful maintenance, rust filled some corners.

The patterns decorating the exterior looked ancient, like relics from a shop of antiques.

The Plague Doctor unbuttoned his clothing to reveal a scarlet chest. His flesh was constantly in turmoil, proliferating skin merely restricted his flesh. Taking the scalpel, he gently sliced open his chest, inserting two fingers to extract a brass key.

No one could have imagined that the Plague Doctor had such a use for his body. He inserted the key into the worn white keyhole, gently turned it, opening the safe.

Inside were no precious treasures, nor anything shocking, simply stacks of books.

Rarely did the Plague Doctor show such a solemn expression. He donned a new pair of gloves and took them out, placing them on the table one by one.

Each book’s cover was modestly crafted, the only difference being the varying degrees of wear, suggesting these books were written at different times, times which seemed rather distant now.

”Has so much time passed?”

The Plague Doctor felt the erosion of time, flipping open the first book. The first page included the author’s name and some trivial words filled with youthful zest and a hint of madness, seeming quite humorous.

”Charles Darwin.”

This was the author’s name, and also the Plague Doctor’s name.

These were not ordinary books, but the Plague Doctor’s notes, begun from an unknown time ago, continuously recorded notes describing the Plague Doctor’s twisted and distorted life.

When research stagnated, the Plague Doctor would pull out his notes and review them from the start. Each time, he would gain some intriguing inspiration.

Like now.

The Plague Doctor removed his avian mask, exposing his terrifying face to the air. Without the skin’s cover, he sometimes felt a slight sting, as though dust settled on his scarlet flesh.

The first notebook, the earliest notes, contained records from when the Plague Doctor had just become a doctor—at that time, he had not yet encountered Demons; he was merely practicing medicine in a village or town.

In his idle moments, the Plague Doctor enjoyed dissecting small animals, insects, and such. People cared little about these things back then; only the Plague Doctor, seen as odd, researched them.

He made rudimentary classifications of some creatures, conducting complex observations and theories, such as larvae and butterflies. While everyone knew butterflies emerged from larvae, accepting that such ugly things birthed beautiful butterflies was still challenging.

Like humans and Demons, who can believe so-called Demons are merely humans troubled by erosion?

”When we ’Ascend’ to a greater existence, are we still ourselves? Do we view ourselves as humans or consider ourselves from that greater identity?”

The Plague Doctor pondered something, noting it down in the latest notebook.

”Like the metamorphosis in biology, tadpoles turn into frogs, changing from one existence to another, completely overhauling life habits, morphology, even thinking, possibly considered two entirely different organisms. Yet, it must be acknowledged that they are indeed the same species, the same existence.

Could humans and the ’Ascended’ existence be like this?”

The Plague Doctor attempted to deconstruct the ”mystical” with absolute ”rationality.”

”Like humans and Demons, under the influence of erosion, developing towards something akin to metamorphosis. Could humans and Demons be regarded as the same species?

Humans are Demons, Demons are humans.”

The Plague Doctor felt he had thought of something, a cold wave swept through his heart. Fear struck him upon pondering his thoughts, and a hint of despair due to the lack of answers.

”Indeed, humans are Demons.

Living habits and morphologies have completely changed between the two, thus although they are our kind, they stand on opposing sides.

Then at evolution’s end, after Ascension...”

He paused his pen, hazy thoughts became crystal clear.

He spoke with a hint of reverence.

”God does not love mankind.

God and man, like man and sheep.

When mortals become gods, what meaning does man have for God? Even if God was once mortal.”

The cabin was silent, even the thunderous storm outside the porthole was isolated. Long silence left only the Plague Doctor, savoring this secret, tasting the fear of taboo.