The deadly attack missed; Pandora suddenly took a large step back, so he missed.
Andrew was somewhat surprised, probably thinking she would obediently lie there and let him torture her.
He lowered his head and said to her, "Come here."
Pandora shook her head, her face deathly pale. Some things you only realize how unacceptable and terrifying they are when you experience them firsthand.
And this is what she won: the dead tore away the magnificent and orderly curtain of Jerusalem, revealing its broken and dark inner self. "God" was no longer invincible, but merely a face of despair and madness wearing a dazzling mask.
They too will face doubts, make poor decisions, and end up in embarrassing situations, even being pranked and mocked by people at the bottom of society.
Andrew looked at her coldly, quite certain of what was about to happen: "You can't die, this is already part of my cycle of reincarnation, please, what makes you want to struggle again?"
His voice was relatively calm, but the way he stared at her was filled with naked malice.
And so, the pranks that matched the pranks began to take effect.
Pandora's hands were steady, her eyes filled with a desperate determination, reflecting the burning afterglow and the hellish scene before her.
Thousands of threads pierced through her hands and rushed to her in an instant, their depths so profound that they could be seen to the bone with just a touch.
In an instant, blood flowed down half her face. At that moment, she could clearly see Andrew's iris, which had been split open—a scorching, murky brown. She stared into those shocked and pained eyes and could see them rupture in that instant, as if stabbed and shattered by a vicious dagger, leaving only screams and rolling on the ground.
The thread, placed inside He Yu's body as a last resort for survival, laid the foundation for his escape at this moment.
...
...
The surroundings were quiet, without a sound, except for the echoing footsteps in the hellish place littered with corpses.
It felt like stepping on glue, sinking deep into flesh and blood, making it impossible to move an inch.
Pandora tried to run, stumbling and falling in front of a female corpse whose brain had been mostly eaten away. She hurriedly crawled forward, pressing her hands into the hole, getting them covered in bits of brain tissue, but she didn't have time to care.
She turned around and looked behind her.
It was still empty; no one was chasing after them, and not even a single mutated creature was seen.
The distant booming sounds of explosions could be heard intermittently, though they were not very clear. Judging by the sequence, the explosions were probably reaching Beelzebub's main castle by now.
It seemed as if she was the only one in the world on the run, aimlessly wandering, with no one knowing where she was going.
It had only been ten minutes, but she was already so exhausted. The pain made her collapse into the carnage, not wanting to get up again.
Perhaps it should all end like this, so I can sleep soundly without any burden.
In my dream, I died peacefully.
There was no despair, no kindred spirits to make one jealous to death.
But the unforgettable pain spread endlessly, urging her to keep getting up, to flee forward, to keep running, to fall, to get up again, to repeat the cycle of life and death.
Intermittent, never-ending.
A chilling illusion appeared, making Pandora vaguely see a burning earth, all the calamities melting away, and flames spreading throughout the city.
Jerusalem is burning, disappearing in endless explosions.
As a child, I cried out in the flames, while Lilith stood before the castle, holding a torch, laughing so joyfully that it was terrifying.
Soon, everyone died.
It's simply because I am an imperfect substitute.
She took a breath, closed her eyes, and let out a hoarse scream. The haunting memories faded temporarily, and the fugitive continued running forward. But a few seconds later, he was overwhelmed by a sharp pain in his abdomen and fell to the ground comically.
It is a gunsword.
The place was so vast and chaotic that she, like the corpse in the vessel, was pale and frail.
Someone grabbed Pandora by the hair and slapped her roughly several times, their laughter chilling and bloody: "Keep running, you bastard."
He pulled the sword out with such force that he pierced Pandora's intestines, and then he heard the girl who was pinning him down make a sound.
"Why...why..."
The child had her head down, and her gorgeous and exquisite long dress was already stained, mixed with all sorts of filth, blood, mud, feces and urine.
She buried her head in the mud and sand mixed with blood and flesh, and finally couldn't help but sob softly, "Am I really that deserving of death?"
She weakly shed tears and snot, wanting to cry out loud, but felt as if blood had entered her lungs, like swallowing boiling molten iron, making it difficult to exhale.
The unspoken substance spread throughout the internal organs.
Anger and grief urged her to struggle, to twist her body wildly, and even with her internal organs ruptured, she could not stop. She got up from the ground and then forcefully pushed Andrew Lie to the ground.
Like children fighting, she swung her fist and punched the man's face hard.
"Tell me!"
Pandora roared, straining with all her might, but could only utter a high-pitched, distorted sound, as if crying out: "What did I do wrong! What did I do wrong! Why did you create me!"
"Who can tell me! What right do I have?!"
"Why couldn't it have been Lilith who died?!"
She roared weakly, her ferocious expression hidden by snot and tears, looking both comical and ridiculous.
The owner of that face just stared at her expressionlessly as she was struck repeatedly, yet he wasn't seriously injured at all.
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