My Abyss Survival Diary

Chapter 35 Steel and Prayer

The hungry angel's body was still faintly visible in the shadows of the tree canopy, its six wings half-open, the color on the surface of its wing membranes slowly flowing, blending into the surrounding moss, bark, and mist.

The angel's face emerged from the invisible silhouette, its turquoise eyes sweeping across the forest as if searching for its next prey.

A streak of fire shot out from the mist, and the thing, trailing an orange-red tail of flame, slammed hard into the side of the Hungry Angel.

Boom—

A deafening explosion echoed through the forest. A thick, orange-red liquid splattered from the blast site, hissing as it clung to the grayish-white skin, burning through petals and flesh to reveal charred ribs underneath.

Five dark green figures emerged from the fog, each over two and a half meters tall, covered in heavy power armor with beveled steel plates reinforced with rivets at the edges, spikes welded to the shoulder armor, and a serpent staff emblem of a deformed venomous snake etched on the chest.

The armor has hydraulic rods that extend and retract at the joints, and each step is accompanied by a hissing sound of steam. The helmet has a narrow observation hole that emits a dark red light.

The reanimated healer leaves the outpost to hunt monsters.

The leader was carrying a short, thick iron pipe on his shoulder, the opening of which was still smoking; the lava bombs were being fired from inside.

He threw the iron pipe to the men behind him, drew a chainsaw sword from his waist, the saw teeth spinning at high speed with a sharp hiss, and the other four men raised their weapons at the same time: two flamethrowers and two heavy machine guns.

A red flare shot out from the shoulder armor of one of the Edo Tensei doctors, leaving a long trail as it exploded in the gray sky.

The hungry angel lowered its head, its emerald eyes fixed on the five people.

The red light diffused in the mist, like a blooming blood flower.

Five impure healers fired simultaneously, their flamethrowers spewing out incandescent tongues of fire, the twenty-meter-long flames scorching the wings of the hungry angel.

The heavy machine gun fired steel nails like a torrential rain, each shot blasting a fist-sized blood hole in the grayish-white skin.

The Hungry Angel let out a shriek, furiously flapping its wings, but failed to hit the well-trained armored warriors. The Impure Doctors' formation was scattered, with each group ten meters apart, and flames and bullets blocked its retreat from three directions.

But it recovered so quickly that new flesh grew from the hole created by the steel nail within seconds. The five-centimeter-long bullet was squeezed out of the wound by the new flesh with a clanging sound, and large flower petals emerged again from the edge of the charred scar.

Its wings were still covered with burning, viscous liquid, but the wing membranes had closed, enveloping the flames and smothering them with oxygen deprivation.

Grayish-white smoke billowed from the gaps in the wings, carrying a sweet, burnt smell.

Simon crouched behind a large tree, a harpoon stuck in the mud at his feet.

He pinned Klein to the ground, one hand covering his mouth and the other pressing down on his shoulder. Badar lay beside them, a shotgun planted on the ground. Brienne's head bobbed in the birdcage, her eyes fixed on the battlefield, not daring to utter a word.

"Don't move," Simon said in a low voice. "Don't make a sound."

Klein nodded, his eyes fixed on the battlefield illuminated by flames, his pupils reflecting the five dark green figures.

The attacks of the impure earth healer gradually ceased.

With bullets exhausted and flames having little effect on the Hungry Angel, the leader of the Impure Earth Physicians made a decision. He raised his chainsaw sword, the blade still spinning, its hissing echoing in the mist.

"We need to get out of here quickly." Simon released Klein's mouth, stood up from the ground, and said, "Grab our things, let's get out of here!"

Back where Theodore had been, Simon, carrying a large amount of canned goods, bullets, and other supplies, rushed over to help. They shared the load, carrying the supplies in their hands, and the three of them bent over, hugging the edge of the bushes, and made their way westward.

……

Devil's Lips Outpost.

The underground chamber has concrete walls up to one meter thick, coated with black anti-corrosion paint, and has fine cracks on the surface, resembling a dried-up riverbed.

The gas lights on the ceiling were dimmed to their lowest setting, casting only narrow patches of yellow light at the base of the walls. Most of the space was shrouded in darkness, the air was cold, and carried the smell of concrete dust and an even older, musty smell from the cellar.

In the center of the room was an iron platform, dark gray in color, its surface covered with runes etched with acid, and the grooves filled with silver powder.

The platform was open, like a coffin, with black leather lining the inside, worn smooth and shiny, and inside lay a person.

He was so thin he was just skin and bones, his skin was ashen, like old wax, covered with brown age spots, his lips were slightly parted, revealing yellow teeth, his eyes were tightly closed, and his eye sockets were sunken.

The old priest stood beside the platform, wearing a faded white robe, his cloudy eyes almost indistinguishable in the shadows.

Four clergymen stood on either side of the platform, dressed in dark gray uniforms with the emblem of the Church of the Six-Winged Angels embroidered on their chests—six wings composed of metal and mechanical gears.

Each person held a bronze incense burner, its body spherical with church emblems engraved on its surface. Milky white smoke drifted out from the gaps in the burner, carrying a more pungent herbal scent. The smoke lingered above the platform, like a thin veil.

Six candles formed a circle, surrounding the withered body in the middle.

The flames danced in the darkness, casting flickering light on the ashen skin, like an ancient oil painting.

The old priest pulled a thin book from his sleeve. The leather cover was worn white at the edges, and the leather spine was cracked, revealing the hemp thread inside.

He turned to the first page and began to pray, his voice hoarse and dry, but every word was clear, echoing in the empty room.

"Steel for bones, fuel for blood, the furnace never ceases, the forging never stops, the Holy Iron Emperor, reigns over all worlds."

Four clergy members echoed this, their voices low but orderly. They raised the incense burner, and smoke poured out from the openwork slits, swirling above the platform and rising to entwine around the candle flames.

The clergy stepped forward and inserted three golden needles through the man's spine. His body stiffened abruptly, and a muffled groan escaped his throat, a sound like the turning of a rusty hinge.

His lips were trembling, his eyelids were twitching, his fingers were twitching, and his nails were scraping against the iron platform with a grating sound.

The instruments connected to the platform were issuing warnings frantically, and the four-color indicator lights were flashing frequently, but everyone ignored them and continued to carry out the next task in a busy manner.

Next, his nerves will be fully coupled with the machinery, and the man will be sealed into the dark, sunless machine along with the platform beneath him. The doors of the machine will be welded shut, and he will become a permanent part of the war machine.

After reciting the final eulogy, the priest closed his eyes.

"By the Iron Emperor, my son, offer your broken body to fight for the Empire."