Secret: The years I served as a foreign aid for the Aurora Club

Chapter 149 Death is coming, only pain

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On a street deep in the East District.

Old Kohler hurried back to his rented apartment, holding the ham in a paper bag.

He looked around vigilantly, afraid that those hungry guys with wolf-like eyes would pounce on him and snatch his "New Year's gift".

He had seen wolves when he was still in the countryside, but he didn't expect to experience that familiar feeling in Backlund.

"It's still too expensive and too big. I can only buy one together with someone and saw it into several pieces... This is enough for Taylor and I to eat during the New Year holiday. We can have two, three, no, at least five slices of ham for every meal. I can also cut some off and stew it with potatoes. I don't even need to add salt..." Thinking of this, Old Kohler looked at the ham in his arms, at the red meat mixed with a lot of white meat. His throat couldn't help but move, and he swallowed.

As he walked, he felt the fog around him become much thicker. The church bell tower that was still clear in the distance was gradually swallowed up by a mixture of light yellow and iron black. Even the pedestrians around him were only vague shadows if they were more than ten steps away.

Old Kohler suddenly felt like he was forgotten by the world and covered his mouth and nose with his hands.

"Why does the fog smell so bad today?" he muttered, quickening his pace.

One step, two steps, three steps, old Kohler felt his face getting hot and his forehead seemed to be burning.

His chest felt tight, his throat felt uncomfortable, and he soon had difficulty breathing.

"Are you sick? Damn it, I still want to have a happy New Year, but now I can only send my savings to the clinic and the hospital... No, maybe I'll be fine after a good sleep, just cover myself with my quilt and have a good sleep!" Old Kohler muttered to himself silently, his head getting hotter and hotter, and more and more confused.

Ho, ho, ho, he heard his own labored breathing. His hands went limp and the paper bag of ham fell heavily to the ground.

Old Kohler subconsciously squatted down to pick it up, but fell there.

He held down the bag of ham and tried to pull it into his arms.

Plop! Old Kohler’s vision began to blur as he saw someone else fall down a few steps away, gasping for breath. He was about the same age as him, also in his fifties, with gray hair at the temples.

Suddenly, he had an epiphany and knew he was about to die.

This reminded him of his wife and son, who had also suddenly contracted the plague and died soon after.

This reminded him of the time when he was hospitalized for illness. The patient in the same room was still laughing and chatting that night, but was sent to the morgue in the early morning.

This reminded him of the friends he met when he was a homeless person. As a winter passed, many of them disappeared and were eventually found stiff in bridge holes or street corners sheltered from the wind. A small number of them died from the sudden availability of food.

This reminded him of the time when he was still a good worker, when his neighbors on the block would also die suddenly. Some of them died of headaches and convulsions, some accidentally fell into the molten steel just out of the furnace, some died with pain in their bones and swelling, and some even collapsed silently in the factory, batch after batch.

This reminded him of what a drunkard said in a bar when he was trying to get information. He said:

"People like us are like straw in the field. When the wind blows, we will fall down. Even if there is no wind, we may fall down by ourselves."

The wind is coming...this thought flashed through old Kohler's mind.

While holding the paper bag of ham tightly, he reached into the pocket of his old jacket, trying to take out the wrinkled cigarette that he had been reluctant to smoke.

What he couldn't understand was why he, who was in good health, suddenly fell ill. He had experienced such thick fog before.

What he couldn't understand was that his life had just gotten on track and was developing in a good enough direction. He had received the reward paid in advance by Detective Moriarty, bought a piece of ham he had longed for to welcome the New Year, and was looking forward to tasting its deliciousness, but why did he suddenly collapse?

Old Kohler took out the crumpled cigarette, but his arm was no longer strong enough to lift and it fell heavily to the ground.

He used up the last of his strength, trying to shout out the words that had accumulated in his heart, but he could only let the weak words linger on his lips, unable to come out.

He heard himself asking:
"Why……"

"Dr. Black!"

A roar like thunder exploded in his ears, causing old Kohler's consciousness, which was almost out of his body, to stay for a while longer.

Maria spoke loudly to old Kohler to keep him conscious. In the distance, a chestnut-haired doctor wearing a pair of gold-rimmed glasses came running over breathlessly. He hurriedly took out a bottle of clear oral solution from his pocket, lifted up old Kohler's head by the back of his head, put the oral solution to his lips and poured it down his throat.

The doctor wore a mask saturated with the solution.

The cool liquid slid down his throat with a sweet and sour taste. Following the doctor's instructions, old Kohler opened his mouth and tried to breathe, his lungs trying to expand outward like a broken bellows.

Soon, an expressionless man in a hooded robe came over, easily picked up old Kohler, put a mask on him, and rushed to Dr. Blake's clinic a street away.

"No, the patient just now is too old and in poor health. My medicine may not be able to sustain his life."

"This fog is too toxic! It's far beyond my capabilities! I can only slow it down, and the patients must go to the church and hospital!"

"I know." Maria circled calmly, "Keep doing this, and do as much as you can."

Dr. Black nodded. He wiped the sweat from his head, pulled up his mask, and after hurriedly saying this, he turned and ran to another patient on the street whose chest was still heaving.

About two minutes later, the zombie belonging to Gavin Lead came over again, helped Dr. Blake transport the patient away, and brought a box of freshly prepared medicine.

Gavin Lead himself was in the clinic, preparing medicines and caring for patients as ordered by Dr. Black.

Ademisol is assisting him so that there won’t be any mistakes in dispensing the medicine.

His five zombies were following Dr. Blake, constantly transporting mildly ill patients and supplies.

"The ever-burning fire, the protector of those who defy fate... the prisoner of chaos and death..."

"His Highness Richard Ernst is with us..."

Seeing that the zombies and the pharmacist cooperated perfectly, Maria did not dare to delay. She turned around and left, and began to recite the honorable name for the third time. Her hand had already reached into her pocket, ready to open the black box containing the sealed object at any time.

Almost all the residents in this area were saved. The poisonous fog spread for only ten minutes. Maria was busy evacuating the people in front of her and only read the honorific name twice in a hurry.

She quickly moved to another street, which, in her impression, was where the child who had a good relationship with Alia lived.

But when she arrived, she found that the street was already filled with thick fog, like a wall, almost becoming solid, and she couldn't even see people or objects two meters away. From this point of view, there was obviously no one alive on this street. Maria clenched her fists, increased the strength of the twist, and prepared to quickly go in and explore. At this moment, she suddenly heard the sound of high heels, one after another, with just the right interval in between, enough to make people think of a light and elegant female image.

At the same time, Maria found herself beginning to tremble violently.

The thin spider silk wrapped around her wrists and neck, leaving streaks of blood, and also pulled her hands out of her pockets.

Her spirituality sketched out a picture: behind her, a graceful woman in a white dress walked out from the depths of the black and yellow fog, with plague and poison all surrendering at her feet, and spider silk burning with black flames extending from her fingertips, beautiful and terrifying.

"A lovely little girl trying to interrupt my progress in digesting the potion."

The witch laughed. Maria felt dizzy and her ears were filled with the alluring words. She desperately wanted to follow the voice and turn around to see the flawless face of this woman.

But if she moved the slightest, the spider silk on her neck would immediately tighten and cut out blood. If she moved a little more, the spider silk would cut her carotid artery or even cut her entire head off smoothly!
"Why don't you despair? Do you still have a trump card?"

Ms. Despair came up behind her, breathing sweetly, and reached her soft hand into Maria's coat pocket and took out a black sealed box.

"Is this your trump card?" Lady Despair laughed and threw the box aside. "It's just a... sealed object."

Maria couldn't look back. She heard the sound of a box falling to the ground from a direction about 20 or 30 meters behind her, and her heart seemed to be smashed to the ground.

…………

Liv hung up the last piece of laundry she had washed and waited for it to dry. She looked at the sky outside and was confused about the time because of the thick fog that had grown thicker without her knowing.

"Anyway, it's still early, and our laundry work has been completed..." Liv's expression gradually became heavy.

Finishing work too early is not a good thing. It does not mean you can rest. It only means that you have not worked enough and your income is insufficient.

Liv took a breath and turned to her eldest daughter Freya, who was wiping her hands and looking at the word book in the next room, and said, "It's almost New Year's Day. Most of our employers have left Backlund and are going on vacation elsewhere. We can't go on like this. We have to find a new job."

As she spoke, she walked towards the door. "During festivals like this, the rich will hold banquets one after another. They may not have enough servants, so they may hire temporary kitchen cleaning ladies. I plan to ask them, Freya. You stay at home and pick up Daisy when the time comes. We need income, and so do those thieves, robbers, and human traffickers who are raised by bitches to welcome the New Year."

In the East District, every woman who did not work in a factory had to have either skills or a strong personality in order to survive.

Freya replied briskly, "Okay." Her mind had already drifted to the small table and vocabulary book next door.

Liv had just opened the door when she suddenly stumbled and fell to the ground.

Cough, cough, cough! She coughed violently, her face flushed red, and every joint in her body ached unbearably.

Freya ran over in panic and squatted down:
"Mom, what's wrong with you? Mom, what's wrong with you?"

"No, cough, I'm fine." Liv's breathing became increasingly difficult.

"No, you are sick, sick! I will take you to the hospital right away!" Freya tried hard to help her mother up.

"It's too expensive, too, expensive, well, go to, Charity Hospital, Charity Hospital, I can wait, no, no big problem." Liv replied breathlessly.

Freya burst into tears and her vision quickly blurred.

Just then, she felt her lungs burning, her body suddenly went limp, and Liv fell to the ground with her.

"Freya, what's wrong with you? Ahem, you're sick too?" Liv shouted anxiously, "The money is in, ahem, in the hole in the wall, blocked by the cabinet. Hurry, hurry to the hospital! Find a good, good doctor!"

Freya wanted to say something but no sound came out. She looked up and saw the door of the next room.

That was their bedroom, with their bunk beds, her favorite small table and vocabulary book.

Her body suddenly twitched.

Liv's coughing stopped abruptly.

Inside the public elementary school on the edge of the East District, the fog was not yet thick, but many students had already begun coughing.

The teacher on duty had received training and immediately ordered: "Quick, go to the church, go to the church next door!"

Daisy stood up in panic and followed the crowd to the church next to the school.

Suddenly, her heart skipped a beat and she felt panicky as if she had lost something important.

...Mom...Freya...Daisy turned her head suddenly and tried to rush back home against the crowd.

However, she was stopped and was grabbed by the teachers and forcibly dragged to the church.

Daisy struggled hard and cried out heart-wrenchingly:

"Mom! Freya!"

"Mom! Freya!"

……

In the East District, the dock area, and the factory area, those who were old or had hidden illnesses fell one after another in the fog like felled trees. Those who came into contact with them were infected with the plague and died quickly. Even the adults and children who were still in good health felt slightly unwell.

In their eyes, the mist mixed with light yellow and iron black was like the descending "God of Death".

On Tuesday of the last week of 1349, Backlund was hit by a heavy fog.

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"The King approved it, and the witch made it happen..."

"... a man-made disaster for unknown reasons."

The Decayed King stood in a secluded spot on the street, looking up to discern the sun behind the black and yellow fog, and felt that his spirituality was becoming more active in this environment, having already reached the level of a true god. If He had not sealed Himself tightly, the entire East District would have already undergone a chemical reaction under the mixture of poisonous fog and decaying spirituality, and would have long since become a lifeless dead place, because His arrival was proof that this place was about to perish.

"The original estimated death toll was around 200,000, but due to Sefirah Castle's intervention, it was reduced to around 70,000..."

He was silent for a moment, then suddenly sighed.

"Stop crying to me, human. I will not save you."

"Your gods promised salvation, your kings and gods slaughtered you, go and cry to them."

At this moment, a low cough was heard in the relatively thin fog in the distance. A girl bent over, covered her mouth and nose with thick cloth, and groped her way forward along the wall.

The cloth she used to cover her mouth and nose was strong and damp, and it seemed that she was using a fire prevention method. In addition, she bent down, which reduced the amount of poisonous mist she inhaled to a certain extent, so she was able to survive until now.

But the poisonous fog was not ordinary fog that could be blocked in this way, but the spirit of the witch. The Decayed King looked at her, as if he saw a countdown above her head that would end in a few hundred seconds.

She walked forward with a cough and soon noticed a person standing two meters away. This person looked at her quietly, without any protection or intention to leave. She felt uneasy and the idea of ​​asking for directions or help immediately disappeared.

"You're in pain and you're still scared."

But when the girl passed by him, the young man suddenly spoke:

"Even if you survive, this poisonous fog will cause irreversible damage to your respiratory tract, brain, and lungs that cannot be healed with your financial level. You won't live to be forty, and breathing will become a torture for the next twenty years."

"Do you want to die now?"

The girl was frightened and quickly moved a few steps to the side. The young man's figure was immediately mostly obscured by the fog, becoming vague.

"Are you...are you...a messenger of God?"

The young man replied: “No.”

"I... I still, ahem, want to live." The girl coughed and finished her sentence with difficulty. Her voice came from behind the thick cloth, muffled and weak. "I'm sick, sir. Excuse me, ahem... do you know where there is a charity hospital nearby?"

The young man pointed and said, "Go over there. Cross this street, turn a corner, and walk another 500 meters and you will see a clinic."

The girl thanked him and continued to walk forward unsteadily, holding on to the wall.

The Decayed King watched the countdown line gradually go away, and the number of ticks decreased second by second. After walking more than ten meters, it was only half left. When he turned the corner, it returned to zero.

There was another noisy cry in His ears.

These weak and dying lives were naturally attracted here.

"Pointless pain and suffering."

The Decayed King withdrew his gaze. He stood in the mist, looking forward, and spoke calmly without any emotion:
"—I curse."

"I curse the human beings on this land. You are so pathetic, and the shackles you were born with prevent your thoughts from moving forward, so much so that I can't bear to blame you. Perhaps you should never have been considered human beings, and you will only exist as lambs and livestock in the future. You will be sacrificed, offered up, and slaughtered at will, and no one will care about your pain and sorrow."

"I curse the gods who condoned this. You could have directly stated that you were raising humans just for your own benefit, but you insisted on taking credit for the Creator's work and putting on the cloak of justice for yourself. Your inconsistency will surely become a sign of the separation between gods and humans. You will be hated, rejected, despised, and disrespected by humans, and thus you will be heading towards your own end."

Then, He paused and spoke solemnly:
"After all this is over, I will give you my blessing, and hope that you can be reborn in a future without God."

"The above is the verdict of the Death Star!"

A word spoken carries a weight of more than a thousand pounds.

The curse merged with spirituality, the branches of possibility were built, and the foreshadowing of death spread silently across the land, about to connect with the fate of all things in the northern continent.

At the same time, because my own status is only floating at the level of true God at this time, all the true Gods on earth can feel this huge curse - however, as long as the curse is completed, I have plenty of ways to deal with those guys.

Just when the curse was about to be completed, the Decayed King suddenly stopped the process. He tilted his head and looked in a certain direction in the distance.

The course of fate changed again.

TBC
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Path of Decline - Premonition of Death: After determining that a thing is bound to decline, the manifestation of its decline can be controlled by cursing/blessing it.

(End of this chapter)