Above the Blood Moon

Jockley pushed himself up from the ground; the wound in his abdomen still hurt terribly, but he couldn't care less.

He staggered toward Walker.

Walker's eyes were wide open, his left prosthetic eye was flashing wildly, and the red optical sensor was flickering on and off. His lips were trembling, as if he wanted to say something.

Jockley squatted down in front of him.

"You know what we need, that hard drive?"

Walker opened his mouth, wanting to speak, but Big Yellow didn't give him the chance.

The yellowish metal head turned slightly, and the beam of light from the visual sensor swept across Walker's face, as if assessing something. Before Walker could speak, Big Yellow pulled the trigger.

As the gunshot rang out louder in the enclosed underground space, a bullet entered Walker's temple and exited from the other side, bringing with it a mixture of brain matter, bone fragments, and electronic components.

Walker's body convulsed violently for a moment, then went limp.

But Da Huang hasn't stopped.

It released the robotic arm, causing Walker's body to collapse to the ground, then extended its right robotic arm, with five slender probes popping out from its fingertips.

The probe was inserted into the skin on the back of Walker's neck, went deep, found the location of the nerve interface, and then pried it off forcefully, severing Walker's entire nervous system.

Once it was confirmed that Walker could no longer operate the prosthetic body, Big Yellow began to search Walker's body and pulled a hard drive out of the inside pocket of his pajamas.

The hard drive was about the size of a palm, with a metal casing and a dark blue painted surface that gleamed faintly in the dim light, matching At's description.

Da Huang handed the hard drive to Qiao Keli, who then stuffed it into his trench coat pocket and quickly turned and ran towards the stairs.

"Rhubarb," he said hoarsely.

Big Yellow had climbed back onto his back, the exoskeleton frame re-locked, the mechanical arm hanging at his side, the metal head pressed against the back of his neck, and the light from the visual sensor belt shining steadily.

"Master, I'm here." Big Yellow's voice came through bone conduction. "I suggest we return to the surface immediately; your vital signs are deteriorating."

Jockley nodded and rushed toward the stairs, each step feeling like walking on a knife's edge.

There were less than two minutes left; he had to hurry up and meet up with At and the others.

The wound on his abdomen tore open with each movement, and more blood flowed out, but he dared not stop. He used all his strength to climb up using both his hands and feet.

Finally, he saw the light.

The iron gate at the stairwell had been blown open, and beams of blue and golden energy, along with bursts of fire, were seen everywhere.

When Jockley rushed out of the stairwell and returned to the first floor, the scene before him almost made him think he had gone to the wrong place.

This is no longer the villa he remembers.

The walls were riddled with holes, riddled with bullets, energy beams, and shrapnel.

Half of the ceiling had collapsed, the carpet was charred, the furniture was smashed, and the decorations were scattered all over the floor, fragments mixed with blood, like the ruins after a disaster. The bodies of the guards were scattered all over the floor.

And in the center of these ruins stood the priest.

His black robe was still on, but it had been torn, revealing his mechanical body underneath.

Its two arms had been completely transformed into mechanical prosthetics, their silver-gray shells covered with energy conduits and weapon interfaces. A six-barreled rotary machine gun emitted wisps of blue smoke, and the mechanical dog's remains lay on the floor in the direction the gun was aimed at.

The priest's right arm ended in an even more exaggerated feature: a multi-barrel rocket launcher.

The eight launch tubes were neatly arranged, their nozzles still warm from the launch, gleaming a dark red light in the dim light.

The priest's entire body was enveloped in a shield that shimmered with a pale golden light.

The shield, like an inverted golden bell, completely enveloped him, with fine energy patterns flowing across its surface.

The bullets hit the shield like raindrops hitting glass, creating ripples before bouncing off and falling limply to the ground.

The priest stood in the center of the shield, his hands raised, and his prosthetic body continued to fire.

The rotary machine gun fired, bullets like a metal storm tearing a mechanical dog that tried to pounce from the side into pieces. A rocket was launched, hitting another mechanical dog precisely.

The explosion engulfed its body, and when the flames subsided, only a pile of burning parts remained on the ground.

At the same time, a powerful energy fluctuation emanated from the priest, spreading outwards from him like invisible ripples sweeping across the entire space.

Jockley felt his skin tingling, his hair standing on end, and his heart pounding in rhythm with the tremors. He almost collapsed to his knees.

The priest, all by himself, is like a war machine.

The last mechanical dog seemed to sense fear. Instead of continuing its attack, it began to retreat, its four jointed legs leaving messy marks on the floor, and its three optical sensors flashing wildly, as if calculating an escape route.

But the priest didn't give it a chance.

He raised his left arm, and the barrel of the rotary machine gun spun faster, emitting a piercing buzz.

Then fire.

Da da da da—

The bullet lashed out like a long metal whip at the mechanical dog, piercing its outer shell, shattering its circuit boards, and exploding its energy core.

The mechanical dog let out a final, synthesized scream before exploding, its parts scattering like a metallic firework display.

The battle ended, and the world suddenly fell silent, with only the sound of dust slowly falling and the crackling of flames.

Jockley stood there, still holding the submachine gun in his hand. He looked at the priest and felt his throat go dry and his heart pounding.

Not only him, but also Art and Daikiri stood not far away, both of them bruised and battered. They were also looking at the priest, their expressions equally complex.

Clearly, they had never seen a priest like this before.

Jockley felt like his worldview had been refreshed once again.

This is a level three ability user, is this a combat type?

Jockley suddenly realized that his previous understanding of the term "superhuman" might have been too superficial.

The priest slowly lowered his arms, the rotary machine gun stopped spinning, the rocket launcher retracted and returned to the shape of ordinary human arms, and the golden shield slowly evaporated and dissipated in the sunlight like morning mist.

The priest stood still, and after confirming that there was no threat, he turned to look at Jockley.

"Did you get the item?"

Jockley nodded and took the dark blue hard drive out of his pocket.

"Got it."

The priest nodded, and Art finally came to his senses. He walked over and glanced at the hard drive, a look of relief on his face.

"Thank goodness, the mission wasn't a failure," he said, then looked at Jockley and Daikiri's wounds, "How are you two?"

"He won't die."

Daikiri grimaced, which aggravated his wound, causing him to wince in pain.

"We need to deal with it quickly, or it will really turn into a dried-up corpse from bleeding any longer."

Art crouched down, took out a makeshift medical kit from his backpack, and then performed simple surgery on Daikiri and Jockri to suture their wounds.

"alright."

Art wiped the blood off his hands.

Jockley nodded; he felt the pain in his abdomen lessen somewhat, and at least the bleeding had stopped.

At that moment, the priest came over.

"Is that mine owner still alive?"

Jockley shook his head.

"They're probably dead, but they might still be clinging to life."

"I'll go down and take a look. Sometimes the dead are more convenient than the living."

The priest walked towards the stairwell and disappeared into the darkness. Jockley stood there, watching the direction the priest had vanished.

He was still a little dazed. Had the priest taken care of all those robot dogs all by himself?

Before Jockley could even react, a very faint voice came from the corner.

"Jockley..."

Jockley quickly turned to look at the source of the voice. The voice didn't belong to any of the priests or anyone else. Could there be someone here who knew the boy?

Finally, Jockley found the source of the sound: the mechanical dog that the priest had destroyed in the end.

Its body had become a pile of burning parts, but its head was still intact, and the pinkish-white brain was still visible in the observation window.

"Jockley, is that you...?"

After confirming there was no danger, Jockley took a few steps forward and squatted down next to the mechanical dog's head. Inside the observation window, the brain was floating in the nutrient solution, its surface wrinkles twitching slightly, as if it were making a final struggle.

However, a small portion of its tissue had already died, so this struggle was pointless.

"I'm so sorry, Jockley..."

The sound was painful, like crying.

"It wasn't that I wanted to harm you. It was the men in red. They said that if we found the blue tissue fluid, we could join them and... leave this place..."

Jockley held his breath.

"I'm Xiao Jie..."

The brain says the sound is getting weaker and weaker, like a battery about to run out.

"Do you still remember me? We grew up together, we scavenged together..."

Jockley remained silent, unsure how to respond. After all, he wasn't Jockley, and he didn't know Little Jack.

"Let me out..." my brain pleaded. "It's so dark and cold in here, I want to go home..."

Jockley watched the brain floating in the nutrient solution and reached out to touch the observation window.

But just as his fingers were about to touch the glass, the voice in his head suddenly changed, from pleading to cursing.

"Why aren't you saying anything? You hate me, don't you? You hate me for betraying you, for betraying you to join the Red-Clad Men..."

The sound was distorted and shrill, like metal scraping against glass.

"So what? You're dead too, right? You're dead too, we're all dead, turned into parts."

Then the voice changed again, turning into a sobbing tone.

"Please, let me out. I don't want to do this anymore."

Finally, the sound completely disappeared, the brain stopped beating, the surface wrinkles stopped moving, and the color changed from pinkish-white to grayish-white.

he died.

Jockley withdrew his hand and stood up. He memorized the information and was about to turn around and walk towards At and the others when the priest came up the stairs.

The priest, his hands stained with blood, walked up to Art and shook his head.

"Nothing was found, nothing was found."

Art nodded without saying anything. Suddenly, the priest activated his supernatural ability, and Jockley felt his dark gray eyes gleam slightly in the shadow of his hood.

"Did you hear something?" he asked.

Jockley hesitated for a moment, then shook his head.

"No," he said.

The priest looked at him for a few seconds, then looked away and didn't ask any further questions.

"Alright, the mission is complete anyway, time to go."

The group then left the villa.

The crimson moon outside had already set in the west, its dark red light growing even deeper, and the air was filled with the smell of gunpowder and blood.

The moment they stepped out of the villa, they were surrounded by a group of people.

It was only now that Jockley could clearly see what those miners looked like.

Most of them had their skin clinging to their bones, forming deep indentations. Their clothes were tattered and covered in dust and dried blood. Their feet were mangled and exposed, revealing white bones.

Some people have no eyes; their eye sockets are empty, and their pupils are cloudy, as if covered by a white film. Some people have no hands; their severed limbs are haphazardly bandaged with rags that have been soaked in blood and turned dark brown.

It must have been the loud noise from the villa that attracted these people. They surrounded Jockley and the others, their eyes empty and numb, devoid of any light, except for a very few whose eyes still held a faint glimmer of light.

The priest stepped forward, took out a small red notebook from the inside pocket of his black robe, drew a triangle on his chest with his finger, and then looked up at the miners.

"You are free."

Dead silence.

The miners looked at him, and then a middle-aged man stepped forward, staring at the priest with bloodshot eyes.

"Freedom? You mean freedom?"

The priest nodded.

"You may leave now."

The middle-aged man gave a wry smile.

"Where will we go if we leave here?" His voice was full of sarcasm. "Where will we eat? Where will we drink? Where will we live?"

He pointed to the large hole behind him.

"At least here, we still have work to do, nutritional supplements to eat, water to drink, and we can still live."

He took a step forward, almost touching the priest's face.

"You killed Walker, you destroyed this place."

He spat, the spittle landing at the priest's feet, splashing a small wet patch in the dust.

"Fuck your freedom."

More miners surrounded him, their eyes changing from numbness to anger and resentment, staring at the priest as if he were an enemy.

"You've ruined our jobs!"

"How are we going to survive!"

"Pay us money! Lose our jobs!"

The sound grew louder and louder, surging in like a tide. The miners began to push forward, reaching out to grab the priest's black robe, trying to grab At's arm, trying to grab anything they could.

Jockley instinctively gripped his gun tighter, but Art was faster.

bang bang bang-

As four gunshots rang out in the air, the miners were startled, stopped in their tracks, and withdrew their hands.

Art put down his gun, his expression turning cold.

"Listen, Wock is dead, this place is finished. I won't stop you from staying and waiting to die, but anyone who dares to take another step forward—"

He raised his gun and aimed it at the nearest miner.

"I'll let him die first."

The miners looked at him, at the dark muzzle of the gun, and they backed down.

Like a swarm of startled ants, they scurried back into the large hole, back into those makeshift shacks, back into the familiar darkness where, though miserable, at least they could still live.

But a few people haven't left yet.

They were young miners, who looked only in their teens, with childish faces, though they were emaciated.

"Thank you," a boy said softly but sincerely. "I was trafficked here. They killed my parents and kidnapped me, selling me here three years ago."

He bowed, and the others followed suit.

"thank you……"

"Thank you for saving us..."

The priest looked at them, his face still expressionless.

He showed neither anger at the insults nor joy at the gratitude he was receiving; he simply nodded and turned to walk toward the motorcycle.

Art put away his gun, his expression returning to its usual gentleness, and patted Jockley on the shoulder.

"Still watching? Come on, kid, mission accomplished, time to get out of here."

Jockley remained silent, watching the dispersing miners and the bowing boys, with only one thought in his mind.

Kindness is indeed the most luxurious virtue in this world.

The group got back on the motorcycle, and Ate started the engine. The motorcycle roared off, its wheels crushing gravel as it sped into the mad world.