The temperature inside the cabin was extremely low, as if winter itself was hidden within. A thin layer of frost covered every corner, and the liquid in the containers was slightly frozen.
Beneath the mirrored mask of the Plague Doctor, his eyes were fervent, and heavy breaths could be heard through the filter, with faint white mist rising from the bird-like beak.
His body began to tremble, seemingly too excited, causing many strange protrusions to rise under his robe, looking as though they could no longer maintain a human form.
His eyes, hidden beneath the mask, were fixedly staring forward. A ghostly blue light emerged, casting a cold hue over everything, and his voice was nearly distorted.
"So... is there truly something called an Angel?"
He turned his head to look at Dean Lawrence, his body trembling with excitement.
"No, to be precise, the term 'Angel' is a word created to help us understand its form. As to what it truly is, Angel or Demon, we are uncertain."
Dean Lawrence slowly spoke, smiling as he gazed ahead at humanity's most perfect creation.
It was a pale corpse, a body dead for an unknown length of time, resembling the martyr recorded in the Gospel, with arms outstretched and nailed to the cross.
An ancient and awe-inspiring power reverberated, and although they were within a steamship at the Reindona port, the Plague Doctor heard faint chanting resonating in his ears, as if an unseen orchestra were lamenting for this deceased existence.
The barriers of time and space were shattered, and that holy being pierced through the threads of history, descending into the present world to show mortals the grandeur of bygone eras.
Thus, milky-white gas gently seeped from its base, flowing across the sea of candles, causing the sea of flames to ripple. It enveloped the Plague Doctor, with countless invisible hands gripping him, revealing the miracles of the Celestial Kingdom.
It was an indescribable scene, akin to a mysterious ritual imbued with a sacred aura. Yet, the rational machinery resolutely restrained the pale corpse, with continuously circulating low-temperature gas cooling it, severely dehydrating its withered skin, and layer upon layer of Holy Silver Nails hammered into each joint of the corpse, as if suppressing the soul longing to return.
The past and the modern, holy religion, and mechanical technology intertwined.
The Plague Doctor's steps were heavy, treading on the solidified wax, and finally stood in front of the execution cross, carefully observing the pale corpse.
The hair was entirely gone, and it had its eyes tightly shut, with facial features that were difficult to distinguish between masculinity and femininity, handsome yet possessing an alluring beauty. Looking downward, it was a smooth surface, devoid of primary sexual characteristics.
It was not human, but rather some kind of being similar to humans...
At first glance, the Plague Doctor clearly understood. Of course, he understood that the corpse before him was not a human corpse; it was that holy existence, that sacred relic... yet he still could not dare to believe.
Believe that they truly existed.
Therefore, his gaze rose again to the sides of the corpse, where new branches were growing along its back, completely different from human's physiological structures, resembling abnormally growing flesh. But the Plague Doctor knew what they were. Check latest chapters at NoveI(F)ire.net
They were jagged wings, fully extended with effort, nailed firmly down with countless Holy Silver Nails, like a specimen.
At that moment, he was not yet aware of his own anomaly, for by observing this unspeakable being, the eyes beneath his mask were bloodshot. As he saw more, the formless pressure began to increasingly ravage his body.
This was forbidden knowledge, those unobservable images. Even just looking at them incurred eroding pressure.
Yet, the Plague Doctor did not feel it. His nerve perception began to paralyze, and his flesh was being twisted and torn.
From higher above, the extremely cold gas gently descended, glowing with a spectral blue light. As it spread across the pale corpse, countless tiny inscriptions on the corpse faintly lit up but immediately dimmed again.
The low-temperature constraint moved from top to bottom, forming a strange loop, a lost Alchemy Matrix, repeatedly calming the flesh that had awakened from hibernation, making it sleep eternally.
The Plague Doctor gazed at the pale cheeks, as if it was not dead, just asleep. The androgynous features continuously distorted in his eyes, eventually transforming into an astonishing visage, a beauty that even quickened the heartbeat of the Plague Doctor.
Reaching out, he gently stroked the peerless face. It seemed to be merely sleeping, and his movements were gentle, not wishing to disturb its slumber. And at the moment of contact, the Plague Doctor saw it.
The frozen blood began to flow once more, the dry skin became supple, and the ice-sculpted body softened, with vitality returning instantaneously to this deceased form, followed by the fall of pure white feathers.
The tightly closed eyes gently opened, and amidst the laziness, a scorching white light surged forth, like the blazing sun.
For a moment, the Plague Doctor could feel nothing.
After a brief daze came excruciating pain; first, the fingertip in contact was frozen by the extreme cold brought by the Alchemy Matrix, followed by the palm and the entire arm. Pristine frost instantly covered half of his body.
The intense sunlight-like brightness directly flooded under the Plague Doctor's mask, shattering the heavy lens, causing his eyeballs to melt and burst in an instant, with eerie black mist pouring from beneath the mask.