Gun of Ashes

He stared at that plain face, strangely devoid of distinctive features, so ordinary that you would struggle to recall its appearance after seeing it.

The Plague Doctor moved the seemingly lifeless body aside and placed it on the operating table.

"Alright, whether it's life or death depends on this time."

As he spoke, he took out a scalpel and inserted it into the Demon's innards.

The sticky, dense sound emerged, accompanied by low breathing and the Demon's wails. The Plague Doctor slowly extracted Lawrence's head, the cut was clear, pulling countless strands of blood.

"How does it feel being beheaded twice in such a short time?"

Lawrence remained silent; he had no interest in the Plague Doctor's dark humor.

At this moment, all his thoughts were focused on controlling the power of Demonization. He was on the brink of destruction, and what the Plague Doctor did was merely delay its arrival.

But he was not afraid; Lawrence had foreseen his own death. He was destined to die, but not at this moment.

The Plague Doctor placed the head next to the body. Like a kind of grotesque amusement, the two faces were aligned. Lawrence, having lost his eyes, couldn't see the body's appearance, and the body kept its eyes tightly shut, like a sleeping child.

As the temperature rose, the deathly pale skin regained some color.

"Then let's begin, Lawrence."

Having done all this, the Plague Doctor took a few steps back, as if out of caution, watching distantly, with reverence mingled with intense corrosion.

In the confined space, an unnamed wind stirred, disturbing the airflow and lifting the milky vapor, in the dim candlelight, like sunlight scattering across the sea surface.

It seemed some eerie ritual was underway; after a brief calm came a violent abnormality. At this moment, some unknown Authority was triggered, rising and surging, amidst the leaping radiance, as if a woman was softly singing, angelically pure.

The Plague Doctor watched intently, opportunities to observe such phenomena were rare; perhaps this was his last chance to witness such a so-called "miraculous" power.

Within the warm holiness, a chill climbed along his spine, it shattered everything existing, and the Plague Doctor acutely sensed it next.

Something emerged; his pupils constricted, trying to behold its grandeur, eyes unwavering, until a vague shadowy figure slowly ascended.

The Plague Doctor almost choked.

He never believed in God, nor did he care for the teachings of the Evangelical Church.

But this thing was an exception, this eerie, mysterious thing.

It had an actual presence, observable by spectators.

This wasn't the first time the Plague Doctor had seen this strange phantom; last time, when Lawrence was defeated by Watson in the Gap, he had seen this in Lawrence, at that time, an invisible giant hand seemed to tug at him as if trying to pull the phantom from his body.

What was this anyway?

In truth, the Plague Doctor had some guesses in his mind long ago, but he dared not believe, for if he did, it would prove the world he believed in was wrong.

But still, he couldn't help but think, like the fall described in the doctrines, because in the world he understood, with the knowledge he grasped, only this word could explain it.

"Soul…"

The Plague Doctor murmured softly, unable to resist stepping forward, trying to touch that mysterious shadow.

But like an instant of delusion, it vanished from sight before he could raise his hand, and then the pristine body on the operating table began to convulse violently, joints twisting bizarrely, muscles contracting. Under the silent body came a dull sound, which then rapidly escalated in pace.

Like a machine accelerating rapidly, operating in overload.

Until finally, that pristine body fell over, lying on the cold ground, enveloped in vapor, while on the other side Lawrence's head seemed to lose all control, massive amounts of fresh blood gushed from the cut, and the flesh began to shrivel, sinking along the shattered skull, transforming into a jagged form in an instant.

The Plague Doctor was stunned for a long time before he tentatively called out.

"Lawrence!"

No one responded to him. Cautiously, he approached, when suddenly that body moved... or rather, it should no longer be called a body.

The man curled up naked on the ground, retching painfully, all the internal fluids and other unknown viscous substances expelled, and then he drew a deep breath, the newborn body experiencing its first inhale.

The cold air filled his lungs, the intense pain made him wail again, followed by the revival of his body.

The halted heart began beating anew, blood surged quickly within the body, the skin became sensitive, the low temperature inside the ship made him feel as if he had plunged into the Ice Sea.

He seemed not yet accustomed to this body, staggering to his feet, forcing his eyes open, as if he hadn't seen light for a long time, even the dim light was blinding like the scorching sun; in pain, he shed tears, and having no stable footing, he fell back down.

The Plague Doctor simply watched coldly without offering aid.

He lay on the ground for a long time, finally gathering some strength, he supported himself and sat kneeling, then struck the ground heavily with both hands.

Lawrence let out a loud laugh.

As if to shout out all his power, the young body roared furiously.

He succeeded, just as he foresaw, this was far from his time of death, his fragile eyes forced open, unafraid, welcoming the light of the world, and though tears ran down, he never closed them.