It's the Red Falcon, who is lying in the water in a ridiculous posture, surrounded by approaching Demons.
At this mont, words were unnecessary between the two; the Plague Doctor wanted to utterly defeat Lancelot, to have him watch with his own eyes as the Red Falcon was devoured by Demons, just as they often said, being eaten all over, with entrails and bones shattered across the ground.
However, at this mont, Lancelot laughed. No one knew what he was thinking, not even any damn psychological description was needed. He clenched his fist for the last ti, broken glass pierced into his palm, with crimson blood dripping down.
"I am... Lancelot."
He murmured softly.
The Plague Doctor slled it, and all the Demons slled it too, that hot blood, boiling blood, blood filled with miracles.
The Demons, trying to attack survivors and prepare to feast on the Red Falcon, stopped in their tracks, and then their hideous heads turned towards the Plague Doctor.
The Blood of the Holy Grail.
Driven by extre desire, the Demons suppressed their instinctual agitation, like a pack of wolves, they pounced towards Lancelot, just to lick that liquid miracle.
The situation was instantly reversed, the Plague Doctor was enveloped by a throng of Demons, brandishing fangs and claws, like waves of death, yet this was not enough to kill the powerful Plague Doctor, not even enough to force him to retreat.
Then, a fiery trajectory burst forth from the end of the rain curtain, burning, as if a mythical dragon appeared, pouring out its wrathful dragon's breath at the sin.
The firelight illuminated Lancelot's face, and also his darkened heart. In the end, he betrayed, but not the stance of being human, he betrayed his own desires, annihilating what he had long yearned for.
For so reason, he suddenly thought of rlin, the Alchemist who had taken care of him for a long ti and shared many life insights, like the so-called cliff of reason.
Back then, he just thought those words were the unique lunatic ramblings of Alchemists, but now Lancelot sowhat understood them.
Longing for freedom, Lancelot stood on the cliff of reason and leapt.
...
The scorching torrent of fire evaporated the cold rainwater instantaneously, the heatwave was suffocating, and the Plague Doctor was completely engulfed by this column of fire, the air filled with the scent of burning.
Heavy footsteps sounded, and a hideous silhouette gradually erged under the heavy rain, his battered figure reflected in the puddle.
The channel transmitted the sound of a man's steady breathing, he discarded the half-lted armor musket, and from the weapon rack behind him, he picked up a new one, while his other hand dragged a giant Demon, like so grotesque shield, which he held in front of him.
Rainwater struck the Iron Armor on the corpse, this too was a Demon transford from a danzo Demon Hunter, but now it was dead, its entire abdon lted by high heat, entrails completely charred, only so still-living flesh slowly writhing.
"Plague Doctor."
Gawain's voice was emotionless, steam rising from the iron's crevices, and behind him, more hideous silhouettes appeared in the rain curtain.
The line defending against Demons had never faltered, quite the contrary, Gawain eradicated all Demons in the mild zone, even when such troubleso creatures clad in Iron Armor were among the enemies.
All this was not a problem for Gawain, he directly thrust the armor musket into the Demon's wound, letting it gnaw his body, if one shot couldn't kill it, he'd fire a second, third shot, until the scorching heat completely incinerated the Demon's entrails, then he'd hoist the Demon's corpse, using the Iron Armor as a sturdy shield, battling amidst the tide of Demons.
The rain cleansed the Armor tainted with foul blood, the silent Gawain continued onward.
In that endless inferno, the silhouette of the Plague Doctor erged, the lethal temperature couldn't kill him, though his clothes were extensively scorched, many places riddled with holes, underneath which peculiar flesh wriggled slowly.
The Armor of Original Sin began its advance, although battered, they still had the strength for battle.
The iron-cast Great Sword tore through all obstacles, slashing down the surviving Demons along with them, amidst flying blood, the Plague Doctor's silhouette was knocked back, he attempted to stand, yet half his body was split open by the strike, exposed twisted entrails and grotesque bones.
"It's endless..."
The Plague Doctor looked at those silhouettes, finally unable to resist laughing.
Humans truly are a peculiar species, the Plague Doctor believed his research on them was comprehensive enough, yet they always brought intriguing surprises.
Clearly such feeble bodies and wills, yet they always act like Ghost Gods.
The flesh began proliferating, even with such severe wounds, they couldn't kill the Plague Doctor, yet similarly, his journey ended here, the wall-like Armor of Original Sin protected the survivors, continuing to fight would only bring more reinforcents.
"Lancelot... Lancelot..."
The Plague Doctor muttered the na repeatedly, after the extre anger, he suddenly felt relieved, greater joy surged within him, he fumbled for notes to record his thoughts, but those things had been consud by fire.
Humans are truly interesting...
"Go on, humans."
The Plague Doctor mused, whispering, and left without looking back.
Oblivious to the descending attacks, with Flaming Bullets piercing through his chest, or sharp fragnts slicing into his body, none of which could kill him, ultimately Gawain raised his hand to halt the attacks.
As the Knight Commander who had hunted the Plague Doctor for long, he could sense, the Plague Doctor hadn't given up, he just found it aningless, just like when concluding events caused by the Plague Doctor, he could clearly unleash far greater disasters, yet when realizing the research couldn't advance any further, he'd forfeit.
Yet more importantly, no one knew what other powers the Plague Doctor possessed, after all, his near-immortal body was already terrifying enough.
"Is he Lancelot?"
The Armor of Original Sin turned, amidst a field of corpses, Gawain saw that emaciated silhouette.
He was a bit surprised, never expecting such a person beneath that Armor, and he regretted that their first face-to-face eting concluded this way.
In the crimson puddle, Lancelot lay on the grassy field of the green wilderness, gazing at a cloudless sky.
The vast sky, the wind spoke like a song.
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