Where Ince Zangwill had vanished, the light suddenly disappeared, and it was dyed with the thickest and deepest darkness.
In the darkness, the sound of a poem could be heard. It was tranquil and soothing, lulling one to sleep. Even the countless pale arms that were constantly clawing at the surface of the pitch-black water slowed down and no longer went crazy, as though they had received salvation for their souls.
In such a "dark night," a figure walked out. It was none other than Ince Zangwill, who had just been dragged into the spirit world.
Compared to before, he had lost the bonnet on his head, and the clothes on his left shoulder were in tatters. A piece of flesh had been torn off, and pale yellow pus was bursting out.
His eyes were no longer indifferent, but filled with pain, as though he was enduring unimaginable torture.
The quill "0-08" continued to write:
"Some regret, while others rejoice. Ince Zangwill had an evil god umbilical cord on him. It came from the baby in Megose's womb, from the True Creator. Through the use of the umbilical cord, he successfully escaped the shackles of an unknown existence and forcefully returned to the real World. However, he also completely lost that mystical item, and for a short period of time, he will suffer the resentment of an evil god's offspring not being able to be born.
"This makes his strength similar to certain products in a department store when it's changing seasons. He only has 55 left. Yes, this number is very accurate."
…
On a street deep in East Borough.
Old Kohler carried the ham in a paper bag and hurried back to his rented apartment.
He looked around warily, afraid that those hungry fellows with wolf-like glints in their eyes would pounce on him and snatch away his "New Year's gift."
He had seen wolves when he was still in the countryside, but he never expected to experience that familiar feeling in Baekeland.
It's still too expensive and too big. I can only buy one with someone and cut it into several pieces … This is enough for me to eat during the New Year's holiday. I 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 … With this in mind, Old Kohler looked at the ham in his arms. Looking at the red meat mixed with quite a bit of white, he couldn't help but gulp.
As he walked, he felt that the fog around him had thickened. The church bell tower in the distance, which was still clear, was gradually swallowed up by a mixture of pale yellow and iron black. Even the pedestrians around him were only blurry shadows if they were more than ten steps away.
Old Kohler instantly felt like he had been forgotten by the World, and he raised his hand to cover his nose and mouth.
"Why does the fog smell so bad today?" He muttered and quickened his pace.
One step, two steps, three steps. Old Kohler felt his face heat up, and his forehead seemed to be burning.
His chest tightened, his throat felt uncomfortable, and he soon had difficulty breathing.
"Are you sick? Damn it, I still wanted to have a wonderful 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 night's sleep. I'll be fine after covering myself with my blanket! Old Kohler silently muttered to himself. His head was getting hotter and hotter, and he was getting more and more confused.
Huff, huff, huff. He heard his own labored breathing. His hands went limp, and the paper bag containing the ham fell heavily to the ground.
Old Kohler subconsciously squatted down to pick it up, but he dropped it.
He pressed down on the bag of ham and tried his best to keep it close to his chest.
At that moment, he felt that thick phlegm was surging up and blocking his throat, so he struggled with all his might, producing the sound of bellows.
Thump! Old Kohler's blurred vision began to see someone a few steps away who had also fallen and was out of breath. He was about the same age as him, in his fifties, with white sideburns.
Suddenly, he had a realization that he was about to die.
This reminded him of his wife and children. They, too, had suddenly contracted the plague and quickly died.
This reminded him of the time when he was hospitalized for treatment. The patients in his room could still laugh and chat that night, but they would be sent to the morgue early in the morning.
This reminded him of the friends he had made when he was a homeless person. After a winter, many of them had disappeared, and they were eventually found stiff under bridges or in street corners that could shelter them from the wind. A small number of them had died from the sudden availability of food.
This reminded him of the time when he was still a good worker. His neighbors on the block would also suddenly die like this. Some of them died from headaches and convulsions, some accidentally fell into the molten steel that had just come out of the furnace, some died because their bones were in pain and swollen, and some even fell silently in the factory, batch after batch.
This reminded him of the words he had heard from a drunkard in a bar when he was scouting for information.
He said, "People like us are like straw in the field. When the wind blows, we'll fall. Even without the wind, we might fall …"
The wind is coming … This thought flashed through Old Kohler's mind.
As he hugged the paper bag containing the ham tightly, he reached into the pocket of his old jacket, wanting to take out the wrinkled cigarette that he had been reluctant to smoke.
What he couldn't understand was why he, who was healthy, would suddenly fall ill. It wasn't like he had never experienced such a thick fog before.
What he couldn't understand was why his life had just gotten on the right track and was developing in a good enough direction. He had also received Detective Moriarty's payment in advance. He had bought a piece of ham that he had wanted for a long time to welcome the new year, and he was looking forward to tasting its delicacy. Why did he suddenly collapse?
Old Kohler took out the wrinkled cigarette, but he no longer had the strength to raise his arm as it slammed heavily onto the ground.
He used the last of his strength to shout out the words that had accumulated in his heart, but all he could do was let the weak words linger in his mouth, unable to come out.
He heard his last words.
He heard himself asking:
"Why?"
…
In an apartment at the edge of East Borough.
Liv hung up the last piece of laundry she had washed and waited for it to dry.
She looked at the sky outside and couldn't determine the time due to the thick fog that had appeared at some point in time.
"In short, it's still early, and our washing work has already been completed …" Liv's expression gradually turned heavy.
It wasn't a good thing to finish work too early. It didn't mean that she could rest. It only meant that there wasn't enough work and insufficient income.
Liv took a deep breath and turned to her eldest daughter, Freya, who was wiping her hands and staring at the vocabulary book in the next room.
"It's almost the New Year. Most of our employers have left Baekeland for vacation. We can't go on like this. We have to find new jobs."
As she spoke, she walked towards the door.
"On such a holiday, the rich will hold one banquet after another. They might not have enough servants, so they might hire temporary kitchen cleaners. I'm going to ask. Freja, stay at home and pick up Daisy when it's time. We need income, and so do those thieves, robbers, and human traffickers to welcome the New Year."
In the Eastern District, every woman who did not enter the factory had to be either skilled or shrewd if they wanted to survive.
Freja replied briskly.
"Alright."
Her mind had already drifted to the little table and the vocabulary book next door.
Liv had just opened the door when she suddenly staggered and fell to the ground.
Cough cough cough! She coughed violently, her face flushed red, and every joint in her body ached unbearably.
Freja ran over in panic and squatted down.
"Mom, what's wrong? Mom, what's wrong? "
"No, cough cough, I'm fine." Liv's breathing gradually became labored.
"No, you're sick. Sick! I'll take you to the hospital right away! "Freja tried her best to help her mother up.
"It's too expensive, too, expensive. Cough, go, charity hospital, charity hospital. I can wait. It's, it's not a big problem," Liv replied, panting.
Freja teared up and her vision quickly blurred.
At that moment, she felt her lungs burn and her body go limp, causing Liv to fall to the ground again.
"Freja, what's wrong? Cough cough, are you sick too? " Liv shouted anxiously. "The money is, cough, in the cupboard, cough, in the hole in the wall. You, hurry, hurry to the hospital! Find a good, good doctor! "
Freja wanted to say something, but she couldn't make a sound. Her gaze slanted upwards and saw the door next door.
It was their bedroom. There was their bunk bed, her favorite little table, and the vocabulary book.
Her body suddenly convulsed.
Liv's coughing came to an abrupt stop.
In the public elementary school at the edge of East Borough, the fog wasn't too thick, but many students had already begun coughing.
The teacher on duty had been trained and immediately instructed, "Quick, go to the church.
Go to the church, go to the church next door! "
Daisy stood up in a panic and followed the crowd to the church next to the school.
Suddenly, her heart palpitated as she panicked, feeling the fear of losing something important.
… Mom … Freja … Daisy turned her head abruptly, wanting to go against the crowd and rush home.
However, she was stopped. She was grabbed by the teachers and forcibly dragged to the church.
Daisy struggled with all her might and screamed at the top of her lungs:
"Mom! Freja! "
"Mom! Freja! "
…
In East Borough, in the dock area, and in the factory district, the elderly or those with hidden illnesses fell one after another in the fog like felled trees. And those who came into contact with them were infected with the plague and quickly died. Adults and children who were still relatively healthy also felt slightly uncomfortable.
In their eyes, the mist that was a mixture of pale yellow and iron-black was like the arrival of the Grim Reaper.
On the Tuesday of the last week of 1349, the Great Smog of Baekeland.
...
In the corner of the hall, Klein clung to the stone wall to prevent himself from being discovered by Mr. A.
Soon, he heard muffled grunts and smelled the rotting smell of flesh and blood.
"Sacrifice your life for the Lord's descent." Mr. A's voice suddenly sounded.
Thump. Thump. The sound of figures collapsing reached Klein's ears as intense spirituality fluctuations appeared and constantly reverberated.
Mr. A sacrificed four of his attendants? Just as this thought surfaced in Klein's mind, he heard layers of illusory sobbing. Some were calling for their mothers, some were coughing violently, and some were moaning in pain.
As half a mysticism expert, Klein seemed to see illusory and transparent figures with indignant resentment enter the ritual one after another. And the numbness, despair, pain, resentment, and other repressed emotions that had accumulated over the years in the factory district, dock area, and East Borough surged out like a tidal wave.
Has it officially begun? Klein closed his eyes and pressed his back against the wall. He clenched his right hand and loosened it.
For him, the best choice was to sneak out of the hall and flee into the distance while Mr. A was focused on the ritual.
He loosened and tightened his right hand several times in a row.
Seven or eight seconds later, Klein opened his eyes as the corners of his mouth curled up exaggeratedly.
He reached out to grab his revolver, turned around, and rushed out.
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