The mirror reflected the twisted tree growing, the black patterns unfathomably deep, as if beneath it lay not flesh and bone, but an unreachable abyss.
Lorenzo examined with scrutiny and confird no abnormalities before putting on his pajamas. Ever since the Ende Town operation, he had not ignited the Secret Blood with such intensity in a long ti. The sensation of this power surging anew felt both strange and alarming to him.
For this reason, he perford such inspections daily.
The bizarre tattoo on his back was a product of the Demon Hunting Order's alchemical technique. This nearly lost craft was even more mysterious than the so-called demons. After all, demons, with their tenacious vitality, always had a few who survived, whereas the alchemists, under the impact of modern steam technology, were reduced to less than one in ten. Perhaps the last alchemist in this world had died of illness on the street, making Lorenzo's tattoo the swan song of this art.
This tattoo was an alchemy matrix inscribed on demon hunters. Its effects were manifold. The simplest way to understand it is this: Secret Blood is the power source, and the alchemy matrix engraved on the demon hunter determines what this power source is to accomplish.
According to the angels in the Gospel, branches of this power were categorized under different nas, such as Ed's Michael branch. The alchemy matrix granted him the authority to incinerate all, with his purifying fla burning hotter than that of ordinary demon hunters, to the point where his body could temporarily beco a blazing inferno, dancing and surging like an elent.
Within the Demon Hunting Order, demon hunters also had different responsibilities based on the branches of their authority. Demon hunters of the Michael branch were responsible for incineration and purification; once they captured a demon, they could carry out executions by fire anyti, anywhere.
Lorenzo's branch, however, was the more solemn danzo branch, because its power lies in proliferating the Secret Blood to generate incredibly strong tallic armor. Demon hunters of the danzo branch had the duty of guarding the Pope, donning their sturdy armor and standing in the shadows of Saint Nalos Cathedral.
If the Popes of the ages are the ones closest to the Gods, then the demon hunters of the danzo branch are those closest to the Pope, deputies of the God, the ones most near to the throne.
But in essence, Lorenzo was sowhat different from all this; after the Night of the Holy Arrival, he went through all sorts of bizarre experiences, just as if the things existing in his mind were unknown, unclear even to himself which direction he was heading.
Lying on the bed, Lorenzo had pasted a myriad of posters on the ceiling—of bars, regular dances, and even so luxury shops and restaurants.
One must have so motivation to live. Thus, every night before sleeping, Lorenzo would gaze at the ceiling for a long ti, look at those posters, and think about what to eat, what to do, or what to play the next day. Such thoughts brought a hint of anticipation for the morrow.
Closing his eyes, the demon hunter sank into a deep sleep.
The demon hunter fell asleep, and the other door of 121A Cork Street slowly opened at that mont. A man, with a weary body, walked out from the room, looking haggard, his hair disheveled as if it hadn't been tidied for a long ti.
Hig glanced at Lorenzo's door. Although he very much wanted to greet his long-lost roommate, it seed their schedules had perfectly diverged.
The ti was already near midnight, and Hig, having just awoken, felt extrely hungry, uncertain if there were any restaurants still open on the street. Perhaps he could take his chances with the kitchen on the first floor.
Hig was a chanician, hailing from an unknown place. Despite his humble origins, Hig was very intelligent, having successfully gained entry into Old Dunling's chanical Institute through his outstanding wits. Although inferior to those prestigious universities, it was still a ticket for Hig into the upper echelons of society.
Everything then unfolded as expected: Hig worked and studied hard, graduated successfully, and now served as a chanician in a factory.
No particularly exciting experiences, nor any shaful past to look back upon—Hig was a quite standard ordinary person.
Hig tried not to attract the attention of Mrs. Van Rudd. Although he'd lived here for quite so ti, he never managed to grasp Mrs. Van Rudd's schedule; it seed as if this old lady was awake at all hours, liable to appear suddenly anywhere and give you a fright.
Rummaging through the fridge, Hig discovered so sausages. Although not very tasty, they would be enough to fill his stomach. He picked up a plate and sat in the chair. In the dead of night, Hig actually seed to experience a sense of life.
Life at the factory wasn't easy; the air was suffocating, his nose filled with the sll of oil, a constant rumbling noise, and he had to wear earplugs to sleep there. Even so, sleep was elusive, his ntal state always poor.
Enjoying this brief respite, suddenly a dinner plate was handed over. Mrs. Van Rudd glared at him fiercely before saying.
"Eat this, that stuff's too cold."
Hig was a little surprised and sowhat flustered, much like being caught sneaking food at ho.
"I... I thought you were asleep."
"Older folks don't need as much sleep."
Mrs. Van Rudd said while pulling up a chair, sitting by the table, and eating with Hig. The atmosphere was sowhat awkward; the two quietly ate until Mrs. Van Rudd suddenly spoke.
"You haven't been back for half a month, have you?"
Hig nodded.
"The factory added a new production line. The new machines have quite a lot of issues."
The dim light cast on their faces, it felt a bit like a family conversation as Mrs. Van Rudd inquired again.
"How are you feeling? You haven't touched hallucinogens, have you?"
As expected, it ca to this. Hig's expression was a bit embarrassed, and after a long pause, he finally replied.
"No, I won't touch that stuff again."
The old eyes stared intently at him, as if in judgnt, before Mrs. Van Rudd finally looked away, spearing half a sausage.
"I hope what you say is true... Hig, you're not like Lorenzo. Although that child is a bit neurotic, unreliable even, he actually knows very well what he wants, so I never worry about him. But you're different, easily influenced, like when you used hallucinogens. If I hadn't discovered it early, I really dare not imagine what you would beco."
Mrs. Van Rudd, uncharacteristically, showed her concern for her tenants; if Lorenzo were to witness this scene, he'd undoubtedly think Mrs. Van Rudd had been corrupted by a demon.
Hig hung his head low—this was his sha, undeniable. Although outwardly he was a respectable chanician with a steady job, for a long ti, Hig used hallucinogens at night.
Hallucinogens had ravaged Old Dunling for years, driven underground under official crackdown, yet their harm remained evident. Those who languished in the Lower City District were the best examples.
"Besides, you also know of Lorenzo's job, and you wouldn't want to be despised, right?"
She asked softly, finally leaving a card behind.
"Hig, I hope you don't mind, but this is for your benefit. This is a mutual aid association run by a friend of mine, and I hope it can be of help to you."
"Dreams are rely a resting place, but they cannot be a refuge."
Mrs. Van Rudd left, leaving Hig to finally move from his stasis after a long ti, rolling up his sleeves to reveal a line of needle marks, as a feeling nad sha gradually consud him.
User Comments
0 comments from readers