CHAPTER 51: CHAPTER 37 THE FUGITIVE_2

He hasn’t lost yet, he can still continue.

The rock ceiling above finally couldn’t bear the weight and began to collapse, countless fragments crashing down, completely destroying the underground river. Their struggle was interrupted by this sudden change, as the river water surged and crashed them against the protruding rocks at the riverbed, finally sinking below.

In the dark depths, the blazing fire continued to burn. Like the madness of drowning ones before death, their figures twisted together. After a brief pause, they fought each other in the turbulent water, this was no longer a battle between humans, it was more like a beastly fight.

Heavy rubble pressed upon them, dark red blood flowed out from the gaps in their armor and flesh, drifting with the waves, crashing against the rock walls with a huge impact difference.

Sabo tore at Lorenzo with sharp claws and fangs, the black iron armor shed like scales, releasing fiery heat from within. The burning Staff Sword repeatedly slaughtered Sabo’s abdomen, killing and resurrecting time and again.

Continuous wailing and roaring, he tightly clamped Lorenzo’s head, refusing to let go even as the overflowing flame burned his hand, holding it like pincers, pinned him down, crashing against the riverbed’s protrusions.

Lorenzo’s offensive suddenly stalled, as if something was stuck, preventing him from fully "transforming". The flames faded, but at the last moment, Lorenzo broke free from Sabo’s restraint in the water, paying no regard to his own injuries, his burning palm held Sabo’s head tightly, and then the high temperature evaporated everything.

In the chaotic and murky bluish world, faint light persisted, but the massive currents still swept everything clean.

At the end of the tangled death battle, both seemed exhausted, from blood loss and injuries, the cold water and suffocation. They weakly let go of each other, together swept to the sewer exit edge.

No grand curtain fall, only two bodies washed ashore like dead dogs.

Perhaps a few seconds or maybe minutes later, one of the bodies finally started to move again, distorted hands grasping the edge of the shore. Sabo climbed onto the shore difficultly. He panted heavily, his abdomen’s flesh twisted and wriggled. Cold air filled his lungs, tears couldn’t help but fall. Though in pain, he was still alive, still alive.

He had nothing left, once again becoming a desperate fugitive. His only arm clawed the ground with force, dragging himself along the ground, leaving large traces of blood behind.

His vision was all a blur. Sabo could only judge direction based on the feeling of breeze brushing. Lorenzo’s final strike at the riverbed nearly melted his skull. Although unsuccessful, his fragile eyeballs had been destroyed; he needed time to recover.

Sabo was just one step away from freedom. This escape route was personally built by him; he knew clearly what to do next. Outside the narrow sewer was the Thames River, usually, small boats would pass by here slowly, allowing him to go ashore at needed locations. As long as Sabo entered the Thames River, he would be free; no one could stop him anymore.

Lorenzo also crawled ashore, gagging, blood mixed with river water spat out together, his face pale, black armor hardly intact, the Staff Sword lost in the struggle. But he still tightly held the Winchester in his hand.

"Sabo, you have nowhere to escape."

Leaning against the wall, Lorenzo mocked the body crawling forward with all its might.

He forcefully knocked on the shotgun, stones and water soaked it, unable to shoot. Lorenzo sighed deeply, clutching the wound as he tried to stand.

Sabo continued crawling forward, completely ignoring Lorenzo’s words, only thinking of moving forward. Then Lorenzo rushed over, firmly pressing Sabo down. The scant blood tried to ignite him, but the sharp Bone Blade rose from under his flesh once more, stabbing Lorenzo.

The two wrestled on the ground, Sabo’s Bone Blade fell one last time, pierced through Lorenzo’s thigh, pinning him to the ground.

There was no sentiment of lingering in battle; he kept moving forward. Watching that stubborn figure, Lorenzo suddenly felt a very sad emotion. He was so persistent, even though the Death God was already knocking, yet he still held hope to live on. Perhaps at this moment, Lorenzo understood him.

Sabo had only life left, and life would never betray him. This was enough, already enough.

The forward-moving figure kept advancing, the burning pain on his body. Only then did Lorenzo discover the steel protruding from his flesh. That was his Staff Sword. Amidst the chaotic strikes in the underground river, Lorenzo inadvertently drove the sword blade into his abdominal cavity, then pierced the heart.

Sabo was about to die, the burning fire had long burned out his organs.

Until finally, he stopped, having used all his strength but still couldn’t crawl out of the dark tunnel.

"Am I going to die?"

Looking at Lorenzo slowly approaching, he propped on the Bone Blade that had impaled him, appearing extremely wretched.

Lorenzo nodded, his black clothes were tattered, his expression carried tranquility and sorrow, just like a friend attending a funeral.

"Mr. Holmes, life is a gamble, you try with the chips you have to win everything in life. I think I did it, but just a little short, just a little short..."

Speaking with red tears on that hateful face, he finally arrived at Ingwig, came to Old Dunling, he had wealth and power, even finally freed from the shackles of a deformed body, he had everything. But now he was about to die.

"Would you pray for me?"

Weakly asking, looking at this former Priest, he pleaded, but it was a long time before Lorenzo slowly spoke.

"It’s unnecessary, Sabo, you don’t believe in God, what’s the use of praying?"

Lorenzo passed by Sabo, heading towards the place shrouded in light, without turning back.

"Dead is dead, no Heaven and no Hell, only eternal tranquility."

Sabo stayed there for a long time, then seemed relieved.

"Is that so... really unwilling..."

Scorching white flames completely engulfed the Demon’s shell, burned out the organs then the brain, the pitch-black bones wavered in the ashes, then fell into the surging river water, completely sinking beneath the Thames River.

The charred head flowed past Lorenzo underwater, though only a glance, it was hard to imagine such a ferocious face would carry a tranquil expression.

The desperate fugitive finally stopped, enjoying the long-arrived tranquility.