Gun of Ashes

Chapter 862

It was supposed to be like this, but evidently, an unexpected event happened.

Miguel didn't think the explosion was part of Lawrence's plan; the searing pain on his aging body made him feel as if he was about to die.

Was it Lawrence? Does he want to kill me?

No...

Miguel didn't think it was Lawrence who did this. He was very clear that he never truly saw Lawrence's real face, but Miguel was willing to believe that if Lawrence wanted him dead, he would have killed him face to face with one strike.

He had to admit, Lawrence gave him an intangible sense of oppression, as if anything, under his leadership, would come true without any oversight.

Just like the explosion just now, if Lawrence came to kill him, then he would definitely be a corpse now, instead of thinking about who wanted to kill him.

"Then who could it be?"

Miguel murmured softly, trying to stand up, but the continuous pain had drained all his strength.

Amidst the chaotic vision, someone slowly stood up, glancing left and right.

Huao saw everything quietly burning, the impact of the bullet veering Eve off mark, but even so, the resulting explosion caused significant damage.

Raising his hand slowly, Huao's hand was covered in blood. He lowered his head to find his clothes, which he wore when he came, soaked in blood, and his abdomen was in wrenching pain as though pierced by fragments of steel.

Huao could still move, breathing heavily, feeling like this wasn't a fatal wound.

"Your... Your Eminence!"

Huao saw the fallen figure, the explosion's flames having burned most of Miguel's body, and the charred clothes clinging to flesh and blood.

Fortunately, the high temperatures also cauterized the wounds together, so he hadn't lost much blood.

"Are you okay, Your Eminence?"

Huao hurried over, helping Miguel up against one side.

Miguel had no strength left, trying to say something, but the excruciating pain interrupted his voice continuously.

"Protect me..."

Miguel's voice bore a commanding tone.

Despite the intense pain in his body, he forcefully raised his hand, seeming to caress something over his head.

He felt it.

Cold, icy, a wintry chill carried on the metal.

A sinister smile appeared on Miguel's face. His crown was still there, not lost, like a growing thorn piercing deeply into his scalp, connecting with him.

He had chased power for too long, long enough to willingly sacrifice everything for it, and now Miguel was so close he didn't want to die, absolutely couldn't die; he finally touched this noble scepter, and he couldn't die just like this.

"Protect me! Huao!"

The voice forced out from his throat, like a lion's roar.

Huao was stunned. He had never seen a Pope like this; the previous holiness and purity now entirely vanished, he seemed like a madman tempted by the Devil, his smile contorted horrifically.

Before Huao could say more, faint footsteps sounded, and Huao mechanically turned his head.

Liya wobbled as she stood up. She was originally very frail, and the blast tossed her several meters, the white dress prepared for the hymn now tattered and charred by the flames, congealed with blood, presenting a deep dark red.

Large areas of skin were exposed, but this was not an alluring sight. It was covered in abrasions, with skin and clothing stuck together, each movement bringing unbearable pain for Liya.

Dirty face streaming with tears, Liya's eyes were somewhat vacant.

Too much had happened today beyond comprehension. According to expectations, everything was supposed to be so beautiful: the Pope would don the holy crown, he would open the Eucharist, and the Church would no longer set any barriers so someone like Liya at the bottom could finally see the light, but this light was shrouded by endless darkness.

Why? Why would anyone hate the light?

Liya had no strength left; she knelt weakly, devoid of any further sound, like a dead puppet.

Huao's hand began to tremble as he stood up from Miguel's side, then his whole body started shaking in fear.

Only now did Huao feel this sense of distortion. For decades, he was mediocre, thinking he might remain mediocre for many more years until he died.

But he encountered the light, although brief, these past few days of life he had never experienced before. He was acknowledged, no one despised the fishy smell ingrained in his bones, he was treated like a living person... This kind of life should have continued, until this night descended.

The ceremony Huao longed for was destroyed, the revered Pope gravely injured, even the beloved girl turned into such a state...

He grabbed a piece of twisted charred steel nearby, like a warped blade, its curve reflecting Huao's distorted face.

Huao was not a strong person, quite the opposite; he was actually very timid. On the ship, he dreaded conflict with others, whatever he did, he remained silent, even eating in the corner.

This moment was different. The previous timidity was because Huao felt it wasn't worth it, not necessary to conflict over such things, but this time was different. Those b******* stole Huao's future, the beautiful future.

This was all Huao had, the only thing of value. Whoever tried to take it, he would kill.

Rage brought strength, almost filling his chest, he looked towards the gradually settling dust in the distance, revealing the forms of the Demons beyond the dust.

They wielded guns and Folding Blades, slaughtering the Believers of the Orthodoxy as they marched forward, vowing to destroy everything good in Huao's life.

"God, have mercy on me..."

He prayed devoutly, gripping the steel tightly, blood flowing along the sharp edge.