Gun of Ashes-Chapter 476 - 86: The Key of Ascension_2

Suddenly, one door caught his attention, different from the others. It didn’t automatically open for Lorenzo; it remained tightly shut, with the wood seeming charred and cracked by a fire.

Lorenzo paused before this door, hesitated for a moment, then pushed hard, as if trying to move a heavy stone mountain, until a slight gap appeared, revealing an aura of death with gray-white ashes spilling out, resembling the remnants after a corpse’s burning.

Suddenly he understood what this door was; everyone has painful memories, judged by the subconscious as bad, causing burdens if recalled, so they are deliberately forgotten, left to gather dust.

Evidently, this was a past intentionally forgotten, but as Lorenzo realized these things, the door opened.

Lorenzo had no time to prepare; immediately, a sharp pain enveloped him, followed by countless arms stretching out from behind the door, their color pale and stained with foul blood, and anguished whispers echoed, dragging Lorenzo into the world behind the door.

Within the tearing pain, an unknown liquid invaded Lorenzo’s mouth and nose; he coughed painfully and struggled hard, but the countless arms imprisoned him like a cage, coldness penetrating through the wounds into his body, accompanied by melodious whale songs at his ears.

...

"What... what’s happening?"

Heracles panicked, staring at Lorenzo in front of him, unsure what to do.

Initially, everything went smoothly; with the smoke of the Wind Tobacco covering them, Lorenzo fell into a deep sleep, consciousness hovering between clarity and a stupor, peering into the Memory Palace.

Indeed, it felt much like hypnosis; once Lorenzo closed his eyes, he apparently entered the Memory Palace successfully, occasionally displaying a gentle smile, sometimes joyful, sometimes sorrowful, his expressions somewhat blurred in the dim light, yet Heracles could see them clearly.

He kept track of the time; the initial entry should not last too long. Just as he prepared to wake Lorenzo up, a mutation suddenly occurred, with Lorenzo closing his eyes tightly and moaning softly as if enduring a severe punishment.

This was not supposed to happen during exploration of the Memory Palace; Heracles’s mind went blank.

Lorenzo collapsed to the ground, his body curling into a ball, convulsing painfully, with green veins visibly popping out, his hands pounding the ground hard, leaving shallow white marks with his sharp nails.

"Lo... Lorenzo!"

Heracles tried to wake him, but Lorenzo seemed like a crazed beast, unable to hear Heracles’s calls, furiously clawing at himself. In the blink of an eye, his torso was bloodied, as if something inside him was trying to be driven out in a manic frenzy.

"Damn it! Damn it!"

Heracles cursed a few times, clearly unable to awaken Lorenzo, and leaned on the door with some fear, pondering what to do next.

Lorenzo was indeed a terrifying guy, judging from how he could kill everyone with just a spoon; he was extremely dangerous, and now Heracles was trapped with a deranged version of Lorenzo.

From Lorenzo’s self-destructive behavior now, he truly seemed devoid of reason; Heracles couldn’t even describe his thoughts at the moment, managing only to utter loudly.

"Sorry!"

Heracles said as he escaped the secure room, not daring to linger even a moment; with his frail body, Lorenzo could indeed tear him apart alive.

He immediately closed the secure room door, possibly fearing Lorenzo would rush out, then dragged a wardrobe over to block the door solidly, subsequently fetching a hunting rifle from another room, watching it all with palpitations.

Heracles was not one of the experienced Knights from the Purification Mechanism; he was terribly flustered, everything he did merely mental comfort, doubting these measures could hold back the runaway Lorenzo, yet still retaining some confidence in Lorenzo.

"You won’t go insane like this, would you..."

Inside the secure room, Lorenzo whimpered, opening his eyes, but they were lifeless and bloodshot, yet he hadn’t escaped those memories.

In the memories, he was lying in some cold place, pure white light cast down, blurred by tears into large specks of light.

Pain came from every part of his body; he tried to struggle, but managed only to slightly lift his head, then saw his own battered and scarred body.

Though the picture was blurred, Lorenzo could distinguish it: he was pinned to the spot by white steel nails, numerous infusion tubes connected to him, his blood externally circulated, the entire chest opened up, the sturdy bones fractured, exposing the beating heart.

It seemed to be a funeral, but more like an execution; countless shadows surrounded him, their hands cutting back and forth on his body while whispering amongst each other.

"Increase the anesthetic; he can’t wake up yet."

"Start infusing the Secret Blood..."

"Prepare the Silver Binding Bolt, start installing from the chest."

The clang of iron resonated continuously, accompanied by excruciating pain, eventually leaving only a vacant numbness.

Lorenzo once thought he couldn’t recall the process of the Secret Blood’s implantation; in fact, he did remember it. He had briefly awoken during the procedure, those blurry memories always residing in the deepest part of his mind, deliberately forgotten.

Yet in this dark moment, another familiar voice rang out, its owner sounding ancient, like a shriveled corpse.

"Inject this too."

The old man emerged from the shadows, becoming one of the shadows under the pure white light specks.

"But... he might die; the implantation of Secret Blood has already been taxing for him," someone said.

But the old man seemed uninterested in listening, remaining silent, his murky eyes reflecting this twisted body, with the entire body wholly opened up, like a brutal vivisection, revealing his organs and bones ashen under the light.

"This is the key, the key to Ascension."

The old man spoke as if chanting an ancient Spell, utterly disregarding the surrounding warnings, inserting a syringe into the infusion tube, letting it flow alongside the crimson liquid into his body.

"No, no, no! He’ll die! We... no, you no longer have materials to prep for the next ritual!" the person said, "We’ve already lost control over the Church... this is our last stock of Holy Grail blood!"

"But if he can’t bear these, we equally lack time to wait for the next ritual, correct?"

The old man retorted; he had lived too long, with Death God perpetually wandering by his side, ready to swing the fatal scythe and take away this feeble soul.

"Hold on, child; you’ll be my continuation."

A rough palm pressed onto the boy’s face; despite the cruel act, the boy’s face showed no pain, seeming to be in a deep sleep, with innocent expressions.

"Continue... we extract potent blood from the body of the Demon, but for the human body to endure these, we continually degrade the potent bloodline... in the end, the Secret Blood is but a holy defective product."

"He... will die."

The person mournfully watched it all; nearby people were already prepared, some even unsheathing the Nail Sword, ready for the boy’s demise or potentially replacing him with a crazed Demon.

But the old man cared not for these; he lowered his head, with blurred vision, Lorenzo barely discerned his face.

He softly sung hymns, the ancient song soothing like a lullaby, comforting those tortured souls.

"Is... it you?"

Lorenzo recalled the old man’s name.

With Secret Blood coursing through, the dying body miraculously resisted rampant erosion, needing no sutures, as terrifying vitality was granted to this form, with flesh wriggling to heal, finally encasing the silver white bones beneath.

"Yes... just so, child."

Many years ago, in some dark corner, Lorenzo de’ Medici gently caressed the child’s cheek, humming old solemn tunes.