Gun of Ashes
Chapter 47 - 35 Recycling

Chapter 47: Chapter 35 Recycling

The will that had lost control watched the figure on the carriage, a gift from the darkness, a power that mortals could not resist. Bola had no chance of winning, but just as Galahad was about to tear him to pieces, a massive wind pressure covered him, followed by the distant sound of mountains collapsing that slowly reached their ears.

The heavy blow from afar carried the force of a thousand strikes, and the rapidly exploding airwaves stirred rippling waves.

It was a projectile weighing thirty kilograms, hitting the out-of-control Galahad with an extremely high muzzle velocity. Such an attack was no less than being hit head-on by the latest heavy armored train. Even with that ominous force, it was difficult to withstand this tremendous kinetic energy. Galahad’s figure twisted bizarrely and was then heavily knocked away.

The projectile dragged him down hard into the ground, followed by the explosion of the bullet head, violently releasing a massive amount of heat energy. The internal bullet embedded inside also detonated, and the flowing mercury instantly evaporated. In no time, deadly mercury vapor shrouded the explosion point.

Bola’s heart pounded fiercely. Such an action, using oneself as bait, was truly risky. Even if he made one wrong step, he would have been sliced into pieces by Galahad’s wings.

On the other side, smoke drifted from the muzzle of the smoothbore cannon. The immense recoil began to tilt the framework of the vehicle as soldiers hurriedly reloaded. This was initially transported here to kill large targets, but ended up being used against one of their own.

"Reload! We can’t let him recover!"

There was no trace of mercy. From the moment Galahad lost control, Bola no longer saw him as the person he once knew.

Once again, a roar sounded, and the heavy projectile knocked down the figure that was about to rise. The milky white mercury vapor surged amidst the raging flames. After all, demons were merely a group of eerie and mysterious monsters. No matter how terrifying they were, they still retained biological characteristics, so conventional physical methods remained effective.

Galahad’s body was twisted by the impact. By all rights, in that heavy blow, his internal organs should have been shattered, but the terrible vitality governed this body. Fractured bones were realigned by powerful muscles, and he slowly rose, welcoming the next attack.

The roar descended once more, and after the blinding flames, the shattered blade tore through the milky white mercury vapor. That lethal gas had no effect on Galahad. The armor was controlling him and protecting him as well.

The dense sounds of explosions erupted. It wasn’t just Galahad enduring the assault; the Underground Palace was also teetering under the continuous blaze and explosions. Its structure, solid for decades, was on the brink of collapse. The internal structure had been damaged, beginning to cave in, just like a coffin burying all filth beneath the earth.

Picking up the silver-white spear, Bola loaded it with the specially made bullet, then through the lens, set his gaze upon the explosion crater.

Beneath the lens lay a life akin to a Demon God. Under the protection of that armor, it was no longer a life that could be called human.

The Black Angel stretched his wings freely. Such a heavy strike merely broke his wings. With the sound of flesh squirming, new blades extended from his elbows, once again filling his wings. Underneath the steel feathers, the fabric resembling biological muscle tissue split into dark red fissures. Immediately, like the discharge of heat, grayish-white steam released from within.

That was steam rising continuously, covering the explosion crater in an instant, and Bola could no longer see him.

"Keep suppressing him!"

Realizing something was amiss, Bola shouted in alarm, then the roaring artillery fire drowned out his cries.

It was not a scene a person could capture, yet at this life-and-death juncture, all of Bola’s senses seemed to become incredibly sharp, and he saw.

The Black Angel carried a thousand swords, shining with white light and grayish-white air. In a swift dash, the steel feathers emitted a shrill ringing, actually achieving a sensation akin to gliding along the ground. Meanwhile, the deadly projectile spun towards him. He twisted his body and casually swung his hand, with a thousand swords heavily slashing at the projectile.

It was a blinding explosion, and being too close, the shock wave directly flipped Bola over. In the last view, the Black Angel spread his wings and strode through the burning flames. The milky white mercury vapor peeled away along the sharp edges, with eyes as dark as the harbinger of death.

The next second, the Black Angel descended upon him, with sharp steel feathers falling like a cage, sealing off all of Bola’s escape routes.

The silver-white muzzle pressed against his heart. Under enormous psychological pressure, Bola lifted his head to see Galahad’s face also covered in those tiny scales, with eyes of utterly dark pupils and a deathly pale face full of indescribable sadness.

Wake up! Galahad!

Bola shouted powerlessly in his heart, his spirit tormented and unable to say anything. As the blade fell, it pierced through his body like a long nail, and blood slowly ebbed from that warm body.

Galahad, seemingly aware of Bola’s sorrow, appeared to recognize this once friend. He gently leaned down, embracing him.

A thousand swords plunged down.

...

The piercing sound of iron scraping replayed in his ears, relentlessly cutting like a sharp blade through his eardrums.