Malin sighed, the slender tone belonging only to children echoed through the platform. Amidst the fear of Tulin and Hal, as the wights collectively shifted their attention from feeding to the tracks, the platform lit up.
The sacred light turned the platform into a place of complete luminosity, the wights were engulfed in flas with a scream, and the wraiths silently turned into flying ash.
Jumping off the locomotive, Malin looked at Old Jack: "Your ho is over there, I’ll take you to have a look."
It wasn’t to console Old Jack, but because Malin heard gunfire and shrieks from afar.
Old Jack obtained a shotgun from the soldiers. He jumped off the vehicle and caught up with Malin: "Thank you, Lord Malin, I, I... don’t know how to thank you. Even in the face of hopelessness, I can tell myself that in the final stretch of my life, I won’t die with regrets."
Old Jack pointed out the direction of the residence, and Malin raised his eyebrows — it was precisely pointing towards the corridor where gunfire was still heard: "Let’s go, Old Jack."
After speaking, Malin reached out, pulled a vengeful spirit from the void, and with a flick of his hand, this spirit turned into flying ash in Malin’s hand.
This small trick may have so imaginative sneak attacks, but to Malin, it was no different from standing under a light.
"Lord Malin, who exactly are you?" Hal, as a gno, now followed closely behind Malin, trembling. He didn’t know what level of strength Malin had, for the ability just shown was definitely beyond what a mage should possess and should be the power that only a clergy of an elven holy super ability could have. Thus, how many more powers does this Mr. Malin have that hasn’t yet been revealed to the world?
Previously, Hal thought that no matter how strong the child before him was, this kind of strength coming from parents couldn’t create a true legend. Physical strength wasn’t sothing rare in the supernatural realm, but now he felt a real fear — holy power is very difficult to inherit through bloodlines, it’s the power of a deity, without sufficient faith, it’s impossible to achieve this, yet following Malin down the corridor, he glanced back at the platform, the sacred light showed no signs of dimming until this point.
Of course, holy power isn’t entirely incapable of being inherited through bloodlines, such as with a God’s Child.
But the question is... could Malin really be a God’s Child? Therefore, Hal feared, and while awaiting the answer, he was tornted by the possible answer.
Malin shook his head: "I am just a mortal." As was his answer to all the doubters before him.
Having said this, Malin raised his hand, the sacred light shone from his palm, and what appeared in Hal’s eyes were vengeful spirits, filling the corridor with tracks. Caught off guard, they were illuminated by the holy light, like fish out of water, they perished under everyone’s watch.
At the sa ti, the sound of gunfire finally ca over.
Everyone heard it, Malin did not have them rush to assist but walked alone towards the exit. Once again, in the pitch-black space, there was sacred light illuminating the entire world. Simultaneously, human screams could be heard from afar: "What is this light! My wound is closing!"
"The living!" Tulin finally exclaid in joy at this mont — in such a desperate environnt, it was truly good to see there were still people alive.
In the distance, a group of survivors ran out from the tin residential area, looking over here in a daze. Upon seeing Malin and Old Jack, they began running with all their might — the presence of an old man and a child wouldn’t make them feel safe, but behind Malin and Old Jack, there were the black-clad guardian reorganizers, these were the foundation on which they dared muster courage.
Malin saw Old Bill’s teammates in the group, Rochelle was supporting Zoe, Louis was holding Bill’s shotgun, looking back in alarm — sothing must have been pursuing them earlier. Malin could feel it too, only under the illumination of the sacred light, this chaos t a very straightforward end.
"Where is Old Bill?" Malin looked at Rochelle.
The latter looked at Malin, the aftermath of survival finally brought tears to this lady’s eyes: "In the earlier corridor, he said he would hold that chaos back!"
Malin opened a teleport rift, arriving at the exit of the corridor, just in ti to see Old Bill standing there with difficulty, holding a barrel of banded-together explosives in one hand and an already lit lighter in the other.
A pitch-black chanical entity stood in front of Old Bill, draped in tattered skin, a girl’s crying voice emitted from the broken speaker: "Father, why did you leave back then?"
"You’re not my daughter, skin-peeler," Old Bill said and then lit the fuse with the lighter: "My daughter died at your hands, I too will die, but I will never let you take my skin!"
Malin sensed sothing amiss — Old Bill hadn’t noticed that this residential area was brightly lit, nor saw the so-called skin-peeler, the out-of-control idiot, was fearing the light’s situation. But considering the lit fuse waits for no one, Malin moved forward.
The footsteps made Old Bill aware of soone coming from behind, he turned slightly and then fixated his gaze back towards the corridor: "You cunning thing! You must be deceiving my hearing."
Having heard the conversation up to this point, Malin finally understood. As he reached his side, Malin pinched out the fuse, seeing the bloody flesh in Old Bill’s eye sockets — his left eye was blind, and the right one was likely to follow suit. Looking at him, Malin spoke: "Old Bill, I’ve returned."
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