Gun of Ashes

This is hell, in an endless cycle, losing all emotion, leaving only numbness, like one confused living dead after another.

Nowadays, the only thing supporting Gawain to continue moving forward seems to be the orders from the Purification Mechanism. He is no longer human, merely a machine executing orders, a cog in a vast machine, stubbornly carrying out orders before rusting into collapse.

He does not feel sad about this; as long as he is alive, more people will be spared from such disaster, and for this, he is grateful.

"Percival, you are really lucky, aren’t you?"

Gawain shows a bitter smile.

A horde of demons overwhelmed the temporary defenses of the Ghostly Floating Massacre, most were intercepted by the Peacekeepers at the rear, but a few still charged towards Gawain, the Armor of Original Sin raised the Great Sword, yet had not swung it down.

Gawain wonders what his colleague is doing at this moment. She should be lying comfortably in her hospital bed. As much as Gawain knows Percival, at such times she should be sound asleep, as it is a rare vacation for her, after all.

As for insomnia?

That’s unlikely, that person always has a big heart, even if demons advance to the edge of Death Row, she will still sleep peacefully.

Sometimes Gawain really envies such people because they live a very easy life, by comparison, he seems much heavier.

The demon’s claws are close at hand, Gawain’s expression appears slightly dazed, yet in the next moment, becomes fierce again.

This is his illusion.

The seemingly exhausted body moves again, the Great Sword stands up and slashes down directly, splitting the demon’s head, along with the chest, waist spine, and even hip bones.

Amidst the flying blood, the Armor of Original Sin raised the Great Sword horizontally, twisting his waist, a horizontal slash severed another demon at the waist.

Each strike he uses all his strength, causing fine steam to seep out along the armpits and waist sides of the Armor of Original Sin.

"Continue!"

He mumbles.

Gawain cannot fall; if he falls, no one will block these demons, they will first devour the citizens clean, then continue deeper into Old Dunling.

If that happens, the core Death Row will also be hard to avoid, and even that person sleeping soundly in the hospital bed will need to take up arms again, even if using a cane.

There is no other way, some people’s ease inevitably requires the burden of others.

Cursing Percival’s heartlessness aloud, Gawain does not mind these words, even preferring to bear it himself.

"Fill in the gap!"

The Armor of Original Sin waves hand, more Peacekeepers march in quickly, most carrying scars on their bodies, returning to the battlefield after replenishing fuel at the rear.

The explosion sound is incessant because during a previous explosion, they directly collapsed the entire street, now the ground has completely sunk, turning into a crimson pool, filled with different corpses.

"Supplies arrived!"

The Armed Iron Serpent stops far behind, under the circumstances, all Armed Iron Serpents have been dispatched, transporting supplies, supporting the defenses.

Anti-Meme Bullets are replenished, dense firepower forces the breaking demons back again, Peacekeepers tread on corpses, squeezing out crimson liquid, some climbing on fallen iron remains.

Amid this pile of corpses, many Peacekeepers’ and Ghostly Floating Massacre’s wreckages converge together, turning into an iron-cast wall.

"Drive them back! Hurry!"

A Peacekeeper shouts aloud, this is a rare opportunity, the demon’s offensive is thwarted again, and they must reclaim the defensive line.

A piercing shrill sounds, a Spiral Spear cuts through the sight, piercing through an iron-armored demon, the force carried by the spearhead shatters the entire chest not to mention, pinning it brutally to a nearby building.

After enduring so much bombardment, the building could no longer support, crashing down, completely burying the corpse.

Amidst the shattered rubble, an Anonymous halts, he sees a photo fall from the dust, but before he can see the person in the photo, it is swallowed by scarlet water, disappearing without a trace.

"Anonymous, do you have any other plans? Don’t hold back anymore."

The Armor of Original Sin casually drags up remains of a Ghostly Floating Massacre, its armor is much thicker than the Armor of Original Sin, forcefully breaking off, a deeply dented armor is used as a shield held in hand.

"Anonymous are no different from you, after all, we are just ordinary soldiers with Anti-Meme Protection."

An Anonymous replies to Gawain’s words, his face is full of filthy blood, Gawain cannot see his appearance.

"So what?" Gawain asks.

"So we can only rely on ourselves."

The Anonymous’ reply is very indifferent, maybe he is too tired, too tired to even evoke any emotions.

"What a pity..."

Gawain watches the figures leaping through the sea of fire, seemingly endless, no matter how much is killed, they never end.

"What’s there to pity?" The Anonymous doesn’t understand, "Isn’t this how we always got through?"

Gawain is slightly surprised, but the face armor covers his expression, what the Anonymous can see is just a scarred face armor.

"Just like this, seemingly impossible war, time after time..."

The Anonymous says, as if recalling something.

"When you all fall into such despair, do you all wish for something to save you?"

"Indeed, we call that thing faith, hoping the so-called god to save us." Gawain replies.

"Has the so-called god ever come to save you?"

The Anonymous asks, holding a Folding Blade, standing on the corpses.

Gawain and others stand together, like a row of gun-riders ready to charge.

"Probably... not."

Gawain carefully thinks, indeed there was no such occurrence in memory.

Although some people, endlessly muttering divine words, devoutly, never once did the so-called god appear, everyone just believes in vain, and then dies amid prayers.

"Isn’t that the case? Why attribute your deeds to a so-called god? That’s clearly what you did yourselves."

The Anonymous says again.

Gawain seems to understand his meaning a little, able to smell the blood in the cold wind, strong enemies are close at hand.

"Yes."

He murmurs.

No need to expect anyone else, Gawain will hold his path, like countless past battles.

The erupting thunder shatters everyone’s thoughts, leaving only brutal instincts, raising weapons, setting up shields, countless gunfires ignite, colliding with demons crossing the defenses.

Blades swung, flesh and blood flying.

Foreign people gather together, some swinging battle axes, others cutting down with great swords.

Claws rubbing against armor, sparking heavily, some Peacekeepers fall, others lose arms but stubbornly still strike, smashing demon’s spines.

Anti-Meme Bullets traverse the fierce battlefield, Anonymous roam the edge of death, bullets precisely hit demon after demon, killing those still barely alive.

Gawain charges at the forefront, like a reef that splits flowing water, no matter how ferocious the enemy, still cannot shake.

A claw cuts into armor’s seams, he immediately clamps the joint tightly, making it difficult to advance further, but more fangs drop, a demon directly hugs the head of Armor of Original Sin, bites the face armor with force.

Clearly feeling the helmet being crushed, but soon the demon is cleared by a Peacekeeper beside, the helmet pulled up forcefully, exposing Gawain’s weary face.

Rain pours down on his face, making it hard to open his eyes, he can only raise the armor’s fragments high to shield from the rain, wielding the great sword in weariness until all demons are slain.

Blazing flash crosses the sky, it hangs high above, from the angle of a Flame Holder, countless blood and iron remains can be observed converging together, stacking atop each other, spanning across the battlefield like a dam.

Wings folding, like a meteor, they fall.