Hearing their conversation, Charles was taken aback. He hadn’t expected Tuba to know 134, and from their tone, it seemed they had known each other for four hundred years.

  Glancing at the Narwhal not far away, Charles transformed his prosthetic limb into a chainsaw and swiftly slashed downward, severing the insect legs that sprayed green blood. He leaped forward like a leopard, charging at 134.

  Amidst Tuba’s angry shouts, 134 didn’t turn around. With a flick of her left hand, Charles found himself suspended in mid-air by a familiar telekinetic force.

  “Crack, crack, crack!” The gears in Charles’s prosthetic whirred as the sharp anchor hook shot toward 134’s petite form.

  134 quickly floated upward, evading Charles’s attack. In the process, the binding vanished, granting him an opportunity. Without hesitation, he reached for his waist, pulling out a revolver and firing at 134.

  Caught off guard by the barrage of bullets, 134 struggled to defend herself. Charles’s aim was precise; he fired just as she attempted to counterattack, thwarting her efforts repeatedly. Yet, she wore a mocking smile, as if toying with a mouse.

  “Listen to me! Why must it be like this? Can’t we sit down and discuss things?” Tuba implored, his face etched with worry. But neither side paid him any heed.

  As Charles continued his barrage, a bullet tore through the fabric of 134’s beautiful purple dress, creating a small hole. Suddenly, a pale bone flute with several holes burst forth from the ground, striking his revolver away and then stabbing into his abdomen.

  In disbelief, Charles looked down as a black, smoke-like figure emerged from the “King’s” flesh. Its ethereal hand grasped the bone flute embedded in Charles’s body, and with a swift motion, it yanked it out.

  A walnut-sized circular wound on Charles’s abdomen gushed blood uncontrollably.

  “Oh my God, what are you doing? Why is there so much blood?” Tuba exclaimed, scrambling to his feet and rushing to the staggering Charles. He pulled out some dirty papers and clumsily attempted to apply them to Charles’s wound.

  However, the blood quickly washed away Tuba’s makeshift bandages, rendering them useless. The black mist ceased its assault, swirling around Tuba before hovering behind 134 like a servant.

  Pale and in pain, Charles looked at this strange scene and then at 134, suddenly realizing something. He pressed his hand tightly against his wound, gritting his teeth against the pain. “You, ‘King,’ Tuba, and this one here—you all escaped from the Second Laboratory, right? The King of Sodom doesn’t refer to a single individual, but to you four living relics, doesn’t it? Or perhaps even more than four?”

  If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  “Giggle, giggle, giggle. It seems you know quite a bit about us,” 134 said, bouncing over to pick up the fallen revolver.

  The large handgun in her small, delicate hands looked unsettling, sending chills down Charles’s spine.

  Charles quickly scanned the surroundings. When he caught sight of a flash of red on the distant sea, he couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

  “What are you laughing at? Is it funny to be dying?” 134 said, removing the bullet chamber and seeing three brass bullets left inside before reloading.

  Charles turned his gaze toward the pirate ships chasing after them. “I’m laughing at those pirates. So many humans being led by four living relics.”

  “Hahaha! We’re relics? You’re just as ignorant as those from the Foundation! We are the fortunate ones in this world, while you lowly humans are nothing but insignificant bugs!”

  “I’ve been to the Second Laboratory. I’ve seen the Foundation’s torment of you, but that seems a bit excessive, don’t you think? Don’t forget, you were human once too,” Charles said, staring intently at the girl.

  134’s face twisted in anger. “How long were you there to speak about understanding me? A day? A week? A month? Do you know how long I endured in that hell? I was there for thirty whole years! Every human possesses a repulsive original sin! They’re not my kin at all!”

  With a crack, 134’s chubby face shattered like glass, revealing a dark, emotion-filled vertical pupil glaring from within. In that moment, she resembled a ghoul.

  Like a monster, 134 raised the oversized revolver with a cruel smile. “Giggle, giggle, giggle. It must look wonderful to see the bullet pierce through your brain.”

  Tuba, looking anxious, rummaged through his pockets, pulling out various bits of trash and gesturing wildly at 134, attempting to block her actions. But his items were merely ordinary refuse, utterly ineffective.

  Suddenly, Tuba froze, a look of relief washing over him. He turned around, beaming at the black mist, extending his hands to grasp its flute tightly.

  “Goma, long time no see! Your flute looks beautiful; can I play with it?”

  “Bang! Bang! Bang!” Gunfire erupted as three bullets shot toward Charles.

  In the split second 134 pulled the trigger, Charles rolled to the right and flung something at her.

  “Thud!” Blood erupted from Charles’s left shoulder as he was hit; he managed to dodge two of the bullets but was struck by one.

  Dizzy and light-headed from blood loss, Charles staggered toward the nearby sea, refusing to give up.

  The black mist attempted to rush forward to block him, but Tuba clung tightly to the bone flute, preventing it from moving.

  Standing still, 134 didn’t pursue further. Instead, she held a photograph, staring blankly at it as the cracks in her face slowly healed.

  It was a picture of a family of three, the same one Mihir had given to Charles. A bullet had pierced the child’s head, while the two parents smiled brightly on either side.

  134 gazed at it with a strange expression, as if recalling something. Gradually, the malice on her face faded, and tears began to well up in her eyes, dripping onto the photograph.

  With a splash, Charles plunged into the frigid sea.

  134’s lips tightened as she struggled to contain her emotions, but eventually, she couldn’t hold back any longer. Like a real six-year-old child, she burst into tears.

  Hearing her sobs, Tuba quickly released the bone flute, rushing over to embrace her, patting her shoulder gently. “Don’t cry, don’t cry. Grandpa’s here. Grandpa’s here.”

  The white flesh on the ground writhed and rose, gently pressing against her.