Gun of Ashes

Froki couldn’t figure out what was going on, but the warrior’s instinct warned him.

He tried to move himself, but his feet, like numb hands, wouldn’t obey. He forgot how to walk and could only wriggle on the ground like a maggot.

He placed his hopes on the Black Angel following behind, but soon he caught sight of those huge footprints in the corner of his eye.

At some unknown time, the Black Angel had already overtaken him, and none of them noticed Froki’s fall.

"Damn it..."

Froki cursed, and those were his last words.

Lying on the ground, Froki completely lost control of his body, his biological instincts collapsing and forgetting constantly, leaving him like a corpse in the snow, with only a slight rise and fall of his chest indicating his life’s presence.

But was this Froki really still alive?

Froki could feel a scythe slicing through his body, not cutting his flesh, but his soul. His past memories were disappearing bit by bit, those inscriptions of a lifetime blanked out by Anti-Meme.

This feeling was awful, an annihilation more despairing than death.

Within the influence of Anti-Meme, all information related to "Froki Willgardson" was being erased.

Froki’s soul cried out, but no one could hear his cries, everything building his "self" was collapsing.

According to Viking mythology, the three goddesses of fate wove a person’s thread of fate, and now Froki’s thread had been cut, the erasing force moving from start to finish.

Froki’s state was like being on an elevated corridor, stanced at the end, watching the collapse spreading from the start, his memories’ foundations crumbling bit by bit down into the abyss below.

The Viking nations, Ice Bay, Silent Sea, World’s End, Vikings, Odin, King of the Ice Sea...

Foundations continuously disassembled, Froki retreated in terror, but the corridor had reached its end, leaving him nowhere to retreat.

Soon, the collapse of foundations reached his feet.

The last foundation named Froki Willgardson crumbled as well.

The man’s gaze was hollow, devoid of all emotion, accompanying the collapse of foundations, he plunged into the abyss along with these shattered foundations.

...

Amidst the vast icy desert, three small figures trudged forward wearily.

Lorenzo paused at a high slope, looked around, then glanced back at the Black Angel, who understood Lorenzo’s intentions; soon, a water flask was tossed over.

"How much longer do you think we’ll have to walk, Plague Doctor?"

Lorenzo poured the water from the flask into his mouth, then asked the Plague Doctor beside him.

The Plague Doctor shook his head, not knowing the answer, could only respond randomly.

"Who knows? Maybe we’ll never reach that place, or maybe it’ll be right beyond the next snow slope."

The Plague Doctor took the water flask Lorenzo handed to him, removed his gas mask, and poured it into his grotesque bloody mouth.

Witnessing that gory sight, Lorenzo couldn’t help but turn away, contemplating whether to discard the flask. Physically, he found it hard to accept the Plague Doctor’s ghastly appearance.

"Plague Doctor, in fact, you’re just like Lawrence, you’re all downright bastards. If I could, I wouldn’t want to work with you, honestly, without these damn issues, I’d have killed you long ago."

Lorenzo’s words were harsh, but his tone was exceedingly calm.

The Plague Doctor grinned, indifferent to Lorenzo’s words.

They had been walking for several days and nights, with their sense of time blurred, no one could discern the exact time, and they dared not sleep, fearing they would be lost in this eerie land.

Fortunately, these monsters seemingly didn’t require sleep either, but to maintain their focus, Lorenzo initiated a conversation with the Plague Doctor.

The two chatted about a myriad of topics, from childhood anecdotes to blood-drenched vendettas.

Lorenzo repeatedly showed his intent to kill the Plague Doctor, who repeatedly indicated he couldn’t care less. Truthfully, the Plague Doctor’s reaction left Lorenzo feeling quite dull, reminding him of Lawrence.

You hate an enemy, burning with fury, yet when you truly raise the blade of revenge against him, he remains indifferent to all of it.

It’s a rather indescribable sense of defeat.

No... it’s beyond just feeling defeated, as the Plague Doctor once explained to him, the Plague Doctor believed he had transcended humanity, that his past crimes weren’t crimes within his cognition.

"Guys like you are really annoying."

Lorenzo said helplessly, then reached toward his back pouch but found it empty.

"Do you still have the Florun Potion?"

Lorenzo asked the Plague Doctor.

The Plague Doctor also checked his backpack, finding it empty.

Lorenzo’s expression immediately turned tense, "When did we run out of potion?"

"I... can’t remember."

The Plague Doctor realized the issue as well, his bloody flesh tense.

They had been constantly under the influence of Anti-Meme’s power, combined with the blurred sense of time. They might have used the potion just minutes before or hours ago.

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