Gun of Ashes

The soldier took a deep breath and looked at his comrades beside him, trying to see their faces, but in this dim, lightless world, the only light source left seemed to be the raging flames of battle.

Their faces were obscured by the shadows of helmets, covered also by wet mud, looking battered.

"Retreat!"

The soldier shouted at the others; the battle ahead was beyond mortal involvement as demons had broken through the defense line, clashing with the Peacekeepers. Soldiers like them would only be sending themselves to die if they stayed.

It was a true battlefield, with continuous artillery thunder, collapsing buildings turning into ruins, heavy rain flooding the land, and a mountain and sea of corpses.

"I said..."

The soldier wanted to hasten them but, upon finishing his observation of the battlefield, he turned around to see a blood-red face.

A comrade reached out, seemingly trying to push him away, but regrettably, he no longer had the strength to do so.

Sharp claws rose from the accumulated water, piercing his chest. As he barely turned his head, he saw a demon crushed beneath the rubble, half of its body gone, entrails and flesh sprawled everywhere, yet it still lived and struck a fatal blow.

"Ah!"

The soldier screamed, perhaps out of fear or anger, emptying his ammunition to turn the demon before him into minced flesh.

Breathing deeply, the cold air filled his lungs, providing a clear awakening.

There was no time for mourning; he scrambled to his feet, fleeing laboriously. Behind him, steel and flames roared, countless bullets piercing flesh and striking the ruins, raising dust and debris, which fell onto the water with a plop.

The wind howled; a demon broke through the rain and mist, raising its claws at the soldier.

The shadow of death loomed; his breath halted for a moment, but soon an even more explosive sound drowned out the demon’s roar. Only then, the demon’s body began to twist and burst as a large and sharp Great Sword tore through the demon’s chest from behind, forcefully swung, slicing the upper body in half.

Blood fell like heavy rain; in the dazed moment, the Armor of Original Sin stepped forward again, crushing the broken head entirely, causing a massive crimson to spread over the water.

"Ha...ha..."

The soldier gasped heavily; he had undergone multiple life-and-death experiences within mere seconds—all happened too fast.

"Commander...?"

The soldier recognized the Armor of Original Sin, with the Knight Commander’s distinctive insignia, although it was now covered in stains and scratches, making it difficult to identify.

Gawain did not respond; the Armor of Original Sin clasped the Great Sword with one hand while raising its armored rifle with the other, igniting a scorching stream of fire down the street.

After the splendid radiance, it illuminated a pitch-black silhouette.

More heavy footsteps sounded as clumsy Ghostly Floating Massacres blocked the street, attempting to rebuild the defense line, initiating a new wave of bombardment seconds later.

Firelight, explosion, impact.

Another building within sight collapsed.

Gawain listened to the voices in the channel, but only chaotic noise responded; under the corroding interference, he hadn’t heard anyone else’s voice in a long time.

They were fighting alone.

"Leave here first, soldier."

Gawain mustered some strength, speaking to the soldier beside him, but apart from the repeated sounds of slaughter, no one answered him.

The Armor of Original Sin lowered its head slightly; through the Face Armor, Gawain saw the soldier, half-lying, his face pale.

On his back, there was a large scar, where flesh had burst open, exposing white bones.

No one knew when he was wounded, nor did anyone know who caused it; it might have been a demon’s claw or flying shrapnel. Anyway, in this hellish battlefield, few knew how they died.

The vast majority were like the soldier: shouting, fighting, then cluelessly dying.

The soldier’s vacant stare lingered on Gawain, his body gradually submerged by the crimson water, disappearing like sinking into deep ocean.

Without extra sentiment, Gawain didn’t even spare a glance at him.

The Armor of Original Sin mechanically raised the Great Sword, continuing forward before the fuel ran dry.

"Remember what those priests said."

Gawain muttered, speaking consumed substantial energy each time under such circumstances, yet he couldn’t help but talk, as if maintaining his last shred of sanity.

"Hell is the sinners’ abode, accompanied by demons day and night."

The Great Sword shattered the demon along with the wall, the Armor of Original Sin, after the strike, leaned on the sword; at some point, its sharpness was compromised, becoming like a heavy lump of iron, capable only of hefty smashing.

"But to speak more precisely, even those priests are unclear about what hell actually looks like; after all, they are people destined for the Celestial Kingdom. How could people like them possibly know the appearance of hell?"

Gawain mumbled, a smile surfaced on his weary face.

He now knew what hell looked like.

It was precisely the sight before him.

Gawain hadn’t felt this way in a long time; not that the onset of death brought it about, nor the ground full of corpses.

Familiar faces departed one after another—a fact he should have mourned.

Over the years as the Knight Commander, he was always responsible for patrolling, hunting demons, having walked back and forth on the brink of life and death countless times.

What Gawain felt now was merely simple numbness; whether it be death, flames, demons, or humans, in this nearly endless cycle, all seemed to have lost their original meaning.