Chapter 23: Night Raid

Roland could not recall how many days had passed, how many quiet nights he had endured, or how many times he had walked home alone.

After the children dispersed, Alice had accompanied Roland for a stretch, but now, on his way back, he was alone again. He was not worried about any danger, however. The people here were friendly—or, more precisely, they were friendly in the way that comes from knowing every detail of one another’s lives. Why would a match-seller rob a box-maker? Between the two of them, their pockets combined could not even afford a decent bar of soap.

Roland tapped his cane against the ground. The entire city stood before his eyes like stone huts resembling eerie sea rocks being battered by white waves. The streets were sparse; in the East District, night often arrived earlier than elsewhere. People turned off their lights, yet they did not sleep. They breathed in the night air and waited silently for the dawn. Scattered embers of red glowed in the mouths of men, brightening as they inhaled, drifting away in white smoke. A stray dog rummaged through the trash, digging out a bottle that clattered loudly as it rolled away.

Until that deafening gunshot rang out, Roland had once thought this night was no different from any other.

Then…

Bang.

The gunshot, erupting suddenly from twenty feet away, caused the white waves of sound to surge violently, overwhelming everything and blowing the night into the brightness of a scorching day. Dazzling light diffused in ripples, laced with streaks of blood-red waves. As the shots continued, he heard intense shrieking and shouting.

Startled, Roland stopped in his tracks. He saw a human hand "fly" out from an alleyway. Then, a succession of gunshots and roars that did not sound human. The color of blood grew richer.

A man in a black trench coat stumbled out of the alley; he was missing an arm, the entire sleeve torn away. He clutched a long-barreled silver pistol in his left hand, fleeing in panic.

"Help me—"

He spotted Roland standing still, and seeing a target, he rushed over, screaming.

"You cannot outrun it."

The text warned him.

*It?*

Before Roland could ponder this, the man had already turned to fire.

Bang!

Bang, bang!

Under the moonlight, the silver-gleaming bullets pierced the thin walls; some flew off into the void, while a few struck some sort of flesh-and-blood creature. The aim was poor.

The roaring sound returned.

Roland saw "it," too—a "human hand" with bone breaking through flesh emerged from behind the wall. It was a humanoid creature like a spider; from the dangling red hair and the curvaceous figure, one could tell that the corpse was likely a woman in life. Half of her face had rotted away to reveal the bone, and her limbs were decayed to varying degrees. Yet, she crawled with incredible speed. Sharp bone spurs grew from her limbs, allowing her to climb the walls. There was no tongue in her mouth; instead, it was lined with circles of spiraling, writhing serrated teeth.

Bang!

A bullet missed, striking a railing on the second floor and sparking. The monster stepped out in rings of red waves.

"Help me!!"

The man who rushed over had short hair, blood streaming from his forehead and the gap where his right arm had been. It left a trail of crimson, glistening puddles along the path. He grabbed Roland by the collar, stumbling as he dragged him into a dead-end alley nearby, crushing several bent clotheslines and falling with Roland into a pile of damp bedding.

Roland struggled to push the bedding aside and helped him sit up against the wall. Blood sprayed uncontrollably.

"Help me..."

His breathing grew ragged, like a pair of bellows. "Quick... quickly, take this..."

Perhaps he did not know Roland was blind. He turned the muzzle, shoved the handle wrapped in black tape into Roland’s hand, and ordered him sternly, "Pull the trigger! If it comes, pull the trigger!"

"Sir, I am a—"

"Pull! The! Trigger!"

He roared, then began to cough, his sternness turning into a plea. "…Pull the trigger, kid, get in front of me. Listen to me, that thing is nearly dead… it cannot take two shots… you must hit it…"

Roland pursed his lips, took the slick weapon, and looked back toward the mouth of the alley.

*Click…*

*Click…*

The ring-like sound waves mixed with red grew clearer.

The thing was approaching.

From the wall.

*Click…*

It had crawled down.

Fast.

Roland subconsciously gripped the gun handle, shielding the injured man. Clouds obscured the moon. The sound suddenly went still. Gold eyes reflected the moonlight. Only two hurried breaths remained in the alley…

*Bang—*

The wall was suddenly clawed through, sending out a layer of cyan brick dust and rubble!

Immediately after, the shadow lunged straight at him!

Roland pulled the trigger decisively!

*Click.*

*Click, click.*

His fingers subconsciously squeezed several more times.

Roland felt as if he had fallen into an icy lake.

The chamber…

Was empty.

There were no bullets.

The next moment, the clawing monster slammed heavily onto Roland, pinning him down. Then, the monster raised its sharp claws, stabbing into the ground just inches from his ear!

Rubble flew!

In the struggle, Roland saw the man’s expression turn deathly cold. He pulled a cross-shaped pendant from his collar, clenched it in his fist against his chest, and mouthed a silent word to Roland.

*'Sorry.'*

He seemed to know everything.

Roland pushed and struggled. His limbs drew their final strength from despair.

*'I cannot die here.'*

In the panic, he reached into his pocket, pulled out the porcelain shard he had bought from Rick Rich, and, regardless of the cost, stabbed it with all his might into the monster’s eye socket!

*Sss—*

It let out a piercing shriek! A stream of deep yellow pus sprayed from its eye socket. Roland hugged its arm with all his strength, using his fingers to drive the porcelain shard completely into the living corpse’s brain.

Then, he rolled on the ground, scrambling on all fours into a pile of trash—

The next second.

The sharp claws swung frantically!

It lay on its back, slashing against the wall like several blades, *clang, clang, clang!*

The metallic ringing was incessant.

Sparks and rubble fell like a rainstorm. He saw the man chanting for a long time; the blood from his right arm wound congealed, and golden light began to emanate from his palm, solidifying in the night into a brilliant, golden blade.

It was like a sun in the night.

He became agile and nimble, holding the blade with his single arm, ducking to dodge the claws, and kicking the monster against the wall.

Then, he thrust forward!

The sharp blade drove fiercely into the monster’s heart!

It struggled, the bone spurs leaving long bloody gashes on the man, but the man remained unmoved, watching the monster struggle, listening as its roars grew faint and its limbs moved slower and slower.

The wounds increased, the movements grew smaller.

Until it stopped moving entirely.

Only then did he let out a long sigh, collapsing sideways onto the ground. The golden weapon melted away, and the thin mist of light surrounding him vanished into the moonlight.

"…Not bad, kid."

He coughed up blood. The wound on his right arm, which had been bitten off at the root, returned to "normal"—the blood began to gush out once more. He looked like a tattered rag fluttering in the wind, blood and mud seeping through his torn clothes.

"You did well."

His lips were pale; he was so weak he could not even lift his arm. "I am Mestalt from the Inspection Bureau…" He gestured for Roland to open his coat.

In the inner pocket was a thin glass tube, the length of a small finger. It contained a third of a tube of rose-colored liquid. Roland pulled out the test tube and watched the man open his mouth.

"Pour it in… then… go to the church… go to the police station… seek help…"

Even speaking had become difficult for him. As the blood drained from his body, his face turned deathly white, his voice intermittent. "Quick… the reagent can keep me going for two more hours, enough for you to…"

Roland held the tube up, shaking it gently in the moonlight. The liquid, like strawberry juice, even had a few bubbles floating in it.

It was very vivid.

Like viscous flesh.

"…What are you… what are you doing! Hurry up…"

Roland found his cane in a corner, picked it up, and twisted it; it wasn't broken. His clothes had a hole in them, and his knees and backside were worn to varying degrees. His work boots were splattered with blood.

"…You… you…"

The man grew weaker and weaker, his face and neck misaligned, twitching slightly. Roland felt he was like a fish that had been tossed onto the shore.

Struggling in his final moments.

Leaning on his cane, Roland walked up to him and stared at him for a while. Then, he sat down beside him, hugging his legs, his chin resting on his knees.

"Mes…stalt, sir?" Roland said softly, his twilight-colored eyes fixed on the tips of his shoes. "This is truly too dangerous."

"Cough, cough… help… help…"

"How would you have me save you, sir?" Roland suddenly turned his head, staring blankly at the dying man. "I dare not trust you anymore."

The man looked at his unfocused eyes, a flash of confusion in his own.

"…This… is a… necessary… sacrifice…"

Roland gripped the vial, looked at it, then lifted the man’s coat, tucked the test tube back in, and secured it.

Until the moonlight spilled into the alley, leaving one more corpse behind.

"But the sacrifice cannot be me, sir."

The figure in the moonlight murmured to himself.

He gripped his cane and headed toward the police station.