Sorry

A dark iron-colored Fog mixed with pale yellow rapidly spread through the East Borough.

Soon, the sound of coughing could be heard from pedestrians in the area covered by the Fog. They couldn't tell which way was which in the thick Fog, their foreheads were burning hot, and their lungs felt itchy and painful as if they were Corrosion.

"Cough cough, help, help!"

The coughing stopped abruptly, followed by the sound of corpses falling to the ground one after another.

Not only the streets, but also the residents in the surrounding buildings were not spared. The elderly and infirm collapsed immediately and died shortly afterward. While the young and middle-aged did not die immediately, they also developed severe symptoms.

The Demoness's Plague Curse is spreading, and people are falling like straw.

This phenomenon was most severe in the Lyman Gang- controlled area, the epicenter of the Plague. The thickest and most powerful Curse Fog clung to this area, killing not only the old and young, but also the healthiest young adults.

On the edge of the Fog- shrouded road, you could see the last vestiges of their expressions. The joy of celebrating the New Year had not yet dissipated when extreme terror surged forth.

"Thump thump thump!"

"Cough, cough"

Oliver was running, swinging his legs to leave the billowing, iron-black Fog behind him.

This is how he ran away when he rebelled against the Deacon at the workhouse. The fat woman chased after him, cursing and swearing, and called on the others to join in. Usually, his escape was ineffective, and he would eventually be caught by the Deacon, and the punishment would be to be locked in a small dark room and starved for a day or two.

But next time, Oliver would still stubbornly resist.

"Go for it! Go for it!"

A figure in White Robe followed behind him, smiling, urging him in a sweet voice, "Run, run! You're slowing down, I'm going to catch up!"

Panatiya "Despair Nightingale," had a beautiful face Distortion with pleasure, yet her voice was so gentle, like a mother following behind her child, encouraging her. Dark Fog surrounded her, moving forward with her, making her seem like a legendary Demoness who brought destruction.

Oliver didn't turn around at all to that alluring voice, because she was the culprit behind it all—

Red-haired Aaron is dead. He collapsed to the ground, lifeless, as he cheered and ran towards the older sister.

The other children also died. They were worried about Aaron and ran over to try to help him up, but they inhaled the black Fog emanating from the surrounding area and died from the Plague.

The adults on the street were dead. They heard Oliver scream and rushed to save the children, but they were all engulfed by the Fog and collapsed to the ground.

The elderly woman in the kitchen and her son died; their lives, just beginning to improve after their bankruptcy, were shattered by this Catastrophe. The young son tried to escape with his mother, but they both perished.

The vicious Mr. Ciel is dead. In the moment of crisis, he acted like a man, roaring and leading his henchmen and weapons to stand in front of the woman, only to be easily killed by her with a dagger.

Everyone shouted when they saw Oliver:

"Oliver, run!"

"Go find His Your Excellency the Missionary immediately!"

The Lamb, with pure hearts, believed that a kind and powerful figure would save them!

Oliver's forehead grew increasingly hot, his vision went black, and he lost all feeling in his body, only instinctively moving his limbs and running forward.

"Thump!"

The hard texture slammed into his chin, and the force that returned made him completely lose consciousness.

"Oh dear, is this it?"

Panatiya's voice was tinged with regret as she was about to walk over when she suddenly heard a high-pitched, ethereal voice:

"I came, I saw, I recorded."

With that sound, a phantom gate appeared in the void, opened, and Luther stepped out.

He looked around.

Death blanketed the once bustling streets, his Lamb lying lifeless in various poses. In his Spiritual Intuition, the points of light representing his "Lamb" were extinguishing one after another until they were all plunged into a black silence.

In the blink of an eye, all his Lamb were dead.

"You've finally arrived."

"Despair Nightingale" Panatiya laughed and said to Luther, "I thought you'd be too scared to come, so I had to kill your Lamb to force you out."

Luther ignored her nonsense, instead bending down to turn Oliver's small body over, and then raising his hands high—

"Puff!"

"Cough cough!"

The boy opened his eyes and coughed violently. His lungs were squeezed, and he coughed up pale green pus and bright red blood, which hung on his face like ugly, sticky slugs.

"Sir, cough cough... Priest, cough Your Excellency!"

Oliver opened his eyes and saw Luther, then immediately called out. He was so weak that he couldn't even utter a complete sentence.

"Oliver, don't talk, just keep breathing."

Luther's voice was eerily calm, like ice crystals flowing in water.

"Your Excellency, cough cough, Your Excellency!"

Oliver's eyes widened in alarm. Ignoring Luther's words, he urgently told him, "She killed... cough... everyone, she killed them all."

He sobbed and coughed intermittently.

"I heard it, Oliver, I heard it all."

Luther held the boy's arm with his other hand, looking directly at him. "Don't be afraid, keep breathing, I'll save you."

"Don't bother, you can't break my Curse."

Panatiya said cheerfully.

Luther ignored him; the boy's body gradually weakened in his hands, resisted by the Demigod- level Plague Curse. But if he increased his output, the boy's frail body simply couldn't withstand it.

"Your Excellency."

Oliver could feel his life force draining away, and he suddenly realized that he was going to die.

A flicker of fear crossed his face at first, but it quickly hardened into determination. With his last ounce of strength, he struggled to his feet. "There's something I must tell you."

"Oliver, breathe."

"Ahem. I joined you only for survival; I've never believed in your Lord." He revealed his deepest secret, his eyes filled with guilt and relief. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Luther paused, then gripped the little boy's right arm even tighter. "I know, Oliver, I've always known! It's okay, it's okay."

But the boy could no longer hear anything; a shadow fell over his once clear, glassy eyes, and his lungs stopped contracting. Luther stared blankly at the child who was not his Lamb, and slowly withdrew his hand.

Oliver's warm blood dripped down his arm, but it was quickly extinguished by the cold wind and froze into ice crystals.

He died.

On a Tuesday in the last week of 1349, Backlund Great Smog.