America: The Cremator

Under Elena's command, the squad moved forward again. The sewers were silent once more, with only the "splashing" sound of military boots stepping on the water and the dull rumble of water hitting the pipe walls in the distance.

Su Long carried the fuel canisters at the back of the group. His mental attribute, which had been raised to 10 points, made him feel calmer than ever before. The instinctive fear that creatures feel when they are in the dark, the tension of an impending battle, the fear of facing an unknown enemy... all of these things became indifferent.

Just then, a song came out of the darkness ahead without warning.

It seemed to be some kind of folk song, the voice hoarse and aged, yet possessing a peculiar, deep quality. The lyrics were fragmented and indistinct, distorted by the sound of flowing water and echoes.

Only the soothing and melodious tune remained unchanged by the noise, yet it seemed particularly eerie in this gloomy and oppressive sewer.

The two task force members at the front stopped abruptly, and Hannah tensed up, raising her pistol to eye level and placing her finger on the trigger.

Only Elena's reaction was completely different.

She turned her head and listened carefully for a moment. For the first time, a complex expression of surprise and worry appeared on her usually indifferent and arrogant face.

"Everyone, speed up!"

She gave the order in a low voice, then stepped past the team members in front of her and took the lead towards the source of the singing.

After rounding two corners covered in sticky moss, the team finally spotted a figure leaning against the wall at the edge of the spotlight beam ahead.

The singing came from him.

It was a man wearing a wide-brimmed cowboy hat pulled low over his head, and an old-fashioned brown overcoat covered with scratches and grease. The collar was turned up high, obscuring half of his face.

A belt slung across his waist, from which hung a gleaming leather holster containing a revolver with a walnut grip.

The entire outfit has a very retro style, as if he deliberately dressed himself up as a cowboy from the Wild West.

Elena walked quickly to the person and squatted down.

Sulong followed the group and stood behind Elena, examining the strange man in the light.

The man had a thick beard, which was wet with sewage and tangled together. He had a burnt-out cigar in his mouth, with only the wet butt remaining.

Seemingly noticing the change in light, he stopped humming and slowly raised his head.

It was a weathered face, with deep wrinkles like a dried-up riverbed, covering the corners of his eyes and his forehead.

He looked at Elena, who was squatting in front of him, a glimmer of light flashing in his cloudy eyes, and a weak smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Hey, isn't this our little Elena?"

His voice was even hoarser than when he sang earlier, like two rough stones rubbing against each other.

"It seems things have really gotten out of hand; even the captain of the 'Black Chess' team has been alerted."

Elena frowned, looking at the man's pale face, and said in a low voice, "Old John, I thought you were already dead in there."

"I'm still a little ways from death," old John chuckled self-deprecatingly, coughing twice, "but I'm already a long way from living..."

He caught his breath for a moment, then glanced past Elena at Suron and Hannah behind her.

"Elena, don't tell me that only your small team came in. That's practically suicide."

"There were twelve teams that broke in from different directions," Elena replied, "but all the other teams were stopped, and only we managed to get deep enough to get in here."

The smile on Old John's face vanished, replaced by a deep weariness and despair.

"Then you'd better run," he whispered. "The sewers are its territory; we can't defeat it here."

He paused for a moment, as if recalling some horrific scene, his eyes becoming vacant.

"I remember... I remember the army had something called a 'bulldozer bomb' to blow up those damn underground bunkers."

"If... if we could pinpoint that guy's location precisely and strike him from above, perhaps... perhaps we'd still have a chance."

Elena's expression grew increasingly serious: "Old John, what exactly happened to you?"

Old John's lips trembled, as if he wanted to say the name, but suddenly he lost his voice. He opened his mouth with difficulty, and a "hoarse" sound came from his throat. In the end, he only managed to utter a single indistinct syllable.

"build……"

"build……"

His face suddenly flushed red, like a drowning person making a last struggle. His cloudy eyes widened abruptly, and his mouth opened to a disproportionately terrifying size.

Elena instinctively leaned forward, wanting to hear more clearly.

"Don't move!"

Su Long darted forward, grabbed Elena's shoulder tightly with his right hand, and forcefully pulled her backward.

Just as Elena was pulled away, a huge ball of orange-yellow gelatinous substance suddenly shot out from Old John's open mouth!

The slime drew a sticky parabola in mid-air, about to pounce on the nearest task force member.

"Snapped!"

A crisp sound.

Hannah had already flashed forward without anyone noticing. She didn't even draw her gun; instead, she stretched out her bandaged right hand and slammed it hard onto the clump of gelatinous substance in mid-air.

The cross-shaped mark on her palm instantly emitted a dazzling white light.

"Sizzle—"

The ferocious slime didn't even make a sound before it was completely purified in the holy white light, decomposing into countless ashes that scattered and fell to the ground.

The sewers fell silent again, except for the old body in the corner breathing heavily.

Old John's chest heaved violently, each breath a dying gasp, and his wrinkled face was now devoid of color.

He looked at Elena and Hannah standing in front of him, and the fear of death in his eyes gradually faded, replaced by a sense of relief and peace.

He used his last bit of strength to squeeze out that complete word from deep in his throat.

"Shoggoth..."

"Its name... is Shoggoth!"

Elena stiffened for a moment, but quickly regained her composure and ordered her team behind her, "Contact headquarters immediately, report that the target has been confirmed as 'B-017·Shoggoth,' and request the highest level of tactical support!"

Then, she knelt down again and looked at old John, who was on his deathbed.

"You need treatment now, old John. We're taking you out!"

However, her hand had just lifted the large leather trench coat when she abruptly stopped.

Beneath the trench coat, old John's lower body... was empty.

From the waist down, his entire body disappeared, replaced by three or four slimes of varying sizes. They were crammed into his abdominal cavity like a pile of filthy organs, with countless tiny, gelatinous tentacles deeply embedded in his remaining flesh, wriggling and gnawing at this still-breathing life.

Old John seemed to have lost all feeling of pain. He simply looked down at his occupied body and gave a bitter, pathetic smile.

His gaze slowly moved and finally landed on Su Long.

At that moment, a glimmer of hope shone in his eyes, as if he had grasped the last straw to save him.

"The cremator...you're from the cremation bureau, aren't you?"

"Quickly...burn me!"

He stretched out his hand, which was covered with age spots and scars, and grabbed Su Long's trouser leg tightly.

"They're eating me..."

"Burn me, burn these damned bastards with me!"

"Please... let me... let me go to heaven as safely as possible."

After saying that, he released his hand and instead gripped the gleaming revolver at his waist.

He held the gun up to Elena, a final plea in his cloudy eyes.

"Elena... this child... if you don't want to come with me, give him to someone worthy of your trust."

The next moment, he pressed the cold muzzle of the gun heavily against his chin and resolutely pulled down the hammer with his thumb.

"Click".

A crisp metallic clanging sound.

The bullet was not fired.

Old John's face remained expressionless as he pulled the hammer again.

"Click".

"Click".

"Click".

Six times the trigger was pulled, six hollow sounds echoed, but the revolver remained silent.

Old John slowly lowered his gun and laboriously pushed open the magazine.

Six intact silver bullets, their warheads soaked in holy water, lay quietly in the chamber, each primer bearing the marks of being struck by a hammer.

He looked at the bullets and murmured to himself:

"Let me go, child..."

"Let me go."

He closed the magazine, then pressed the muzzle against his chin again and closed his eyes.

"Bang!"

Deafening gunshots rang out in the narrow sewer.