Gun of Ashes

No matter what it is—life or metal, civilization or glory—they are all dead now, frozen here without distinction, obliterated by the passage of time.

They journeyed for who knows how long, emotions fluctuating wildly from ecstatic joy to terror, then back to ecstatic joy again... It was complex indeed, but as time went on, everyone eventually calmed down and maintained composure.

Then, just before night fell, they finally saw that massive man-made structure, so close it was within reach.

It was far larger than what Lorenzo had seen, practically a monumental forest of architecture, unimaginable how people back then created such buildings.

”What if we fail, Holmes?” the Plague Doctor suddenly asked.

Throughout the journey, Watson remained silent, communicating only with Lorenzo, completely ignoring the Plague Doctor; Froki was an utterly uncommunicative fellow, incessantly drawing on parchment as he walked,

Thus, all this time, the Plague Doctor ended up conversing with Lorenzo—despite their deep-seated hatred for each other, in these circumstances, it was unavoidable.

”Fail? Why do you ask?”

Lorenzo responded.

”Because it’s indeed a possibility. We’re not children of destiny; we’re just a group of ordinary monsters, mortal monsters. We’re not invincible, hence there’s a chance of failure.”

The Plague Doctor gazed at the approaching structure and spoke slowly.

”I’ve been thinking, having made it here with such difficulty, what if we fail? Have you considered this?”

”No, I haven’t thought about failure. I’m destined to succeed; I must succeed.”

Lorenzo replied harshly, compelling himself to believe this.

The Plague Doctor smiled as the emotions fluctuated and transformed throughout the journey, pondering what failure would bring. He dared not imagine such an outcome; just a moment’s thought invoked suffocating despair.

He desperately wanted to discuss this with Lorenzo; in this godforsaken place, Lorenzo seemed the only person he could communicate with.

But suddenly, the Plague Doctor halted, and Lorenzo stopped as well. Not far from them stood a diamond-shaped spire.

As daylight waned, the brilliance before them diminished, allowing Lorenzo and the others to clearly observe these massive man-made structures—spires of varying heights, diamond-shaped and grand.

The actual distance between the diamond-shaped spires was very far apart, yet densely arranged together like a concentrated formation of spears.

The closest spire to Lorenzo is what he pursued immediately, sprinting towards it, but the wind roared behind him.

The Black Angel grabbed the trio, Iron Feather spread wide, fuel tanks spewing flames, leaving a dazzling trail.

The wind rushed against them, bringing them ever closer to the diamond-shaped spire. Lorenzo couldn’t contain his cheers.

Despite her calm demeanor, Watson was the most excited of them all, unable to hold back any longer.

Finally, the diamond-shaped spire appeared before their eyes.

The towering gigantic structure, smooth and iron-gray on its surface, silent and solemn, despite being merely a simple geometric form, evoked a sense of sacredness and sublimity akin to standing within a cathedral.

Silence and metal, loftiness and chill.

They stood at its base, looking up, realizing its height was at least several dozen meters, with part of it submerged beneath ice, making it impossible to see its entirety. This reminded Lorenzo of the Dunling Tower embedded in Old Dunling, but this diamond-shaped spire was several times larger, and there were at least hundreds of such spires.

”Truly wondrous.”

Lorenzo said while gently caressing its surface. From what he could see, the spire showed no signs of seams, indicating it might have been cast in one piece—imagining the colossal furnace and molds required for this was mind-boggling.

”What is this?”

The Plague Doctor asked, unable to grasp the purpose of these spires, possibly too ignorant to comprehend such advanced knowledge.

Watson remained silent, the Black Angel tilted its head up, lost in thought. As for Froki, he was simpler—still engrossed in drawing, utterly indifferent to the surrounding structures.

”I don’t know, something... isn’t right.”

Lorenzo’s expression changed subtly; he forcefully rubbed the spire’s surface, feeling a slight friction.

The surface of the spire wasn’t as smooth as it seemed; something was etched upon it.

Night gradually blanketed the sky, dimming his view, so fiery flames danced in Lorenzo’s eyes as he scrutinized the spire closely.

Lorenzo saw intricate letters.

In this expression, packed with tiny engravings, letters covered the entire spire.

”Are these... letters?”

The Plague Doctor imitated Lorenzo, observing, and saw the complex, spell-like text.

The letters on the spire resembled the writing Lorenzo knew, with only minute differences between their symbols—likely the language of an ancient civilization, albeit slightly distorted by the passage of time, but not enough to hinder reading. Lorenzo could make out some characters.

”Johnny Alabi.”

Lorenzo deciphered a passage from the tiny, intricate letters, sounding like a name.

”Becky Melward, Ladi Faz, Barack Field...”

Lorenzo recognized more letters, but like before, they were still names.

”Reza Hodgson...”

The Plague Doctor also deciphered a name, muttering it softly, then saw the faintly terrified look in Lorenzo’s eyes.

Lorenzo stepped back, gazed upward trying to spot the spire’s top, then stumbled and sat on the ground. After a long pause, he slowly spoke.

”I... I know what this is, Plague Doctor.”

Lorenzo smiled bitterly, looking around helplessly.

”What do you think a giant spire, engraved with people’s names, might be?”

Listening to Lorenzo, the Plague Doctor realized the answer, his flesh twitching violently, like a statue motionless, eyes red as blood, heartbeat echoing loudly.

Lorenzo knew what these spires were.

”They’re monuments.”

Watson’s voice whispered nearby; even hers lost its usual calm, trembling as she spoke.

”Monuments commemorating the dead...”

The towering diamond-shaped spires stood silently on the earth, countless souls etched within, one after another, hundreds and thousands like dense iron forests, witnessing the cycle of reincarnation and iteration impassively over endless time.

At the World’s End.