Gun of Ashes

The dust-covered mystery crumbled, revealing its original form.

He saw through everything; at this moment, all the conspiracies and tricks were laid bare before him in their true form.

This was the real ”Death Row.”

Gareth couldn’t help but admire Lorenzo, and he even wanted to clap and praise the madman’s decision, but... it seemed he had no chance to commend Lorenzo anymore.

”Run!”

Gareth shoved Percival aside, shouting.

”Trust it, absolutely and blindly believe in Death Row!”

”What?”

There was no answer. In Percival’s puzzled gaze, Gareth punched the alarm set at the doorway, shattering it along with the glass cover.

Blood splattered, and the piercing alarm echoed throughout the Broken Dome.

People were initially stunned, staring blankly around, at a loss.

This was the Broken Dome, the Pure Land untouched by the Demon since its inception; such alarm had almost never sounded.

But soon, panic and fear took over.

This was the core of the Purification Mechanism, and now the core had been breached.

At this moment, time seemed to slow down. The two exchanged glances, and with the tacit understanding garnered from years of working together, they understood each other’s intent.

Percival’s expression showed a hint of reluctance, but she did not hesitate.

She stared intently at Gareth, imprinting his image in her mind. As her body leaned back to brace itself, Percival sprang forward at a rapid speed, running madly toward the end of the corridor without looking back.

Meanwhile, heavy gates began to descend, sealing off the areas where the alarm blared one by one.

”So decisive, are you Arthur?”

A stranger stood up, smiling as he watched Gareth.

Gareth shook his head, feeling an eerie calmness. Perhaps he was too terrified, unable to sense any other emotions. Even the so-called fear felt pale and numb.

”No, Arthur is not often here,” Gareth said, looking at the stranger. ”You can call me Gareth.”

He took a deep breath, calling out the Demon’s name.

”Roger Cruz.”

Hearing Gareth call out his name, Roger looked somewhat surprised. He picked up a long spike, speaking in confusion.

”We shouldn’t have met before, right?”

”Lorenzo said it, Ed kills quickly and usually doesn’t speak nonsense; the one who spouts nonsense is Roger,” Gareth said calmly.

As he spoke, his hand slowly moved to his waist, attempting to reach the gun tucked there.

”Lorenzo? Oh, the one who holds the Echo of the End?”

With the information Watson had deliberately leaked, Roger had long been aware of this, but the oblivious Gareth suddenly felt pressure. He hadn’t expected Lorenzo to be exposed so quickly.

Before absolute power, their schemes seemed pale.

”Hmm? Want to resist a bit? I can give you that chance.”

Roger noticed Gareth’s small movements but paid them no attention.

Just as he allowed Lorenzo a chance at the World’s End, he liked giving people opportunities—a fair fight.

Like refining metal, no matter what kind of blaze it experiences, some impurities still exist. Roger was the same. No matter how much he was steeped in by The Inexpressible, there was still a sliver of ”Roger Cruz’s” will.

If I’m wrong, then try to deny me.

Gareth shook his head, smiling bitterly.

”I have no chance of winning. It’s just futile.”

”Give it a try. After all, this is the end of your life,” Roger encouraged.

Gareth remained unmoved, then the next sharp sound sliced through his eardrums. The distorted long spike reflected in his eyes, continually magnifying, making its way toward Gareth.

The long spike pierced through the wall, and amidst the dust, Gareth was flung out of the office. After the alarm, the area was completely sealed, with not many places left for him to run; he could only flee in vain.

”Yes! Just like that, I’ve seen many people like you. They all appear indifferent to death, but when death comes, they can’t help but wail and plead.”

Roger retrieved the long spike, walked out of the office, and followed in Gareth’s footsteps.

He enjoyed this, watching those who hold ideals crumble and wail under the threat of death, discarding their so-called dignity and morality, leaving only a pathetic soul pleading for mercy.

Gareth gasped for breath, like a dirty rat hiding from the light.

He raised his gun, shooting back at Roger, who didn’t even bother to block; the bullets hit the dark armor, sparking.

The feeling was awful. Gareth knew exactly what Roger was doing.

Roger was toying with his life, wanting to see what kind of base instincts he would exhibit under the weight of death. He anticipated Gareth’s breakdown, his wailing.

Too awful. The last time Gareth felt something like this was when he was imprisoned, his future bleak... but that time, Percival came for him.

This time?

”Indeed, my luck has always been bad.”

Gareth muttered half-jokingly, counting his remaining bullets, gauging the chase while ensuring Roger had his fill of the game.

He observed his own hysterical resistance, and when Roger grew tired of it, that would be his end.

The end approached.

Gareth stopped his steps, turned around, and under Roger’s gaze, adjusted his clothes to look as neat as possible.

”Just giving up like that?” Roger asked.

A long spike once again tore through the air, grazing Gareth’s cheek as a grim scar burst open, and his left eye was engulfed in crimson.

Gareth didn’t retreat, enduring the pain, standing firmly in place.

”The few seconds you gained, were they just for deciding to give up completely?” Roger was somewhat disappointed. ”So... this is how the so-called ’Knight Commander’ is? Truly disappointing. What’s next? Begging for mercy?”

In Roger’s eyes, Gareth was just a pathetic maggot. He had expected a delightful hunt, yet the prey hadn’t run far before being crushed by the pressure, leading him to suspect if Gareth’s position was obtained through the back door.

”So ascension is right, discarding these vices to become a greater being.”

Roger whispered, like a curse, hypnotizing himself.

”No, I was just deciding on some things in these seconds... like you said, many people are indifferent to death, but when it truly comes, they still tremble uncontrollably.”

Gareth self-deprecated; he scarcely managed to keep his hands from shaking, yet they still wouldn’t stop, almost unable to hold the gun.

He had stayed too long in the Broken Dome, so long that, in its comfort, he had forgotten the fear of death.

”It’s easy to say, but truly hard to do... it takes immense courage.”

Gareth had no chance of winning, but he still shook, picking up the gun, taking actions completely contrary to his words.

”I just hope I don’t die too disgracefully.”

”That’s a wish I can grant,” Roger said.

”I wasn’t talking to you,” Gareth said, raising his other hand, smoothing out his collar to make it straight. ”I was just talking to myself.”

A smile spread across his face.

Roger realized what Gareth was about to do, but Gareth gave him no time for a gap to invade.

Gareth should have done all this in the office, but Roger was right; Gareth was one of ”many people” who, when truly making a decision, was hesitant.”

So Gareth needed those seconds to calm himself, to still his thunderous heart, to tidy his clothes, manage his expressions, and reestablish a semblance of dignity to calmly accept it all.

Lastly... to recall some beautiful memories.

Gareth’s hand stopped trembling, steady as iron, he suddenly raised it, the gun barrel pointing at his temple.

He pulled the trigger.

Shattering and piercing his brain, memories, and life entirely.

Blood gushed, coating the entire wall.