Chapter 146 Personal Side Quest: The Final Note
Agatha Christie, the former star of the Clock Tower, was universally acknowledged as the most promising of the Clock Tower's attendants.
In addition to possessing powerful supernatural abilities and superhuman reasoning skills, Christie also has a unique sense of justice.
She was obsessed with exposing the crimes of all criminals and sending them to court and prison. She was completely absorbed in the process, as if the act of sending criminals to trial itself was enough to satisfy her.
Christie's drive and execution during this process earned her praise from everyone who witnessed it.
Christie herself didn't think much of it; she was simply passionate about it and enjoyed it.
Although sometimes one could sense that something deeper lay hidden beneath Christie's sense of justice, Christie herself had never thought about these things, nor had any of her friends discussed them with her.
Ah, the problem is that Christie didn't have many people among the clock tower attendants whom she knew well enough to call friends.
Christy was a very amiable person; she knew how to make friends and was happy to do so. But even so, the only person she could truly call a friend was Sherlock Holmes.
The title "Angel of Death" evokes more fear than admiration, but it is also something one cannot do without.
Because at the very beginning, Christie couldn't really control her supernatural abilities very well.
"No One Survived" used to be very aggressive, not only on Christie's body but also spreading around her like a mist. Even though "No One Survived" would decompose quickly after leaving her, it would still create a large deadly zone.
So during that time, even if Christie herself didn't use her powers, a realm filled with death would form around her.
For a long time, Christie's area was a "forbidden zone" in the truest sense; anyone who dared to step into it would die instantly.
Furthermore, because the area of the restricted zone expands due to the accumulation of supernatural abilities when Christie stays in a certain position, even just talking to her face-to-face makes people uneasy.
At least in Christie's memory, the only person she could truly have a peaceful and stable conversation with was Sherlock Holmes.
After all, he is a superhuman, and even if he is accidentally killed by "No One Survives," he can be summoned back by Conan Doyle, so there is no need to worry about these issues.
In fact, "No One Survives" was initially a superpower that would kill even her, the holder of it.
It not only forcibly kills the probiotics that live in symbiosis with the human body (of course, thanks to this, she will not be infected by viruses or bacteria), but what is instantly fatal to others is merely not fatal to Christie, but still has the effect of a slow poison.
Unlike the instant death that follows contact with others, Christie's superpower brings her a slow execution.
No one survives; this is a death curse that even its holder cannot escape.
Christie had known this outcome for a long time. For a long time, she even thought she had accepted it, with only a slight sense of resentment.
It's not that I feel resentful, but it's only a little bit, not even to the point of being distressed.
During the Clock Tower servants' operation to annihilate her, Christie, due to her special abilities, was, as usual, assigned to act alone.
Constantly moving and using her abilities on the battlefield, Christie's deadly domain, where no one survives, allows her to surround all mortals single-handedly.
But not everyone can accept death peacefully, and Christie was prepared for being sniped. However, her opponent unexpectedly included a superhuman who hadn't been spotted by the clock tower attendants, and the bullet pierced Christie's side with an impossible trajectory.
Subsequent investigations revealed that the ability of the superhuman was to create an attraction between two objects; the bullet that hit Christie was redirected towards Christie, thus changing its trajectory out of thin air.
Although the remaining people were all dead within seconds, Christie still clutched her wound and slowly slid down the wall.
A piercing wound in the side is generally not fatal if treated promptly. But for Christie, it was fatal enough.
Under the shadow of "no one survived," no one with medical knowledge could have survived long enough to treat her injuries, let alone the fact that she was currently in an area where supernatural abilities were spreading.
As for Christie handling it herself, she doesn't have any medical supplies on hand. And even if she did, given Christie's poor physical condition, she probably couldn't handle the bullet.
Even if she could bear it in terms of willpower, Christie's poor physical condition made it impossible for her to withstand too much pain and blood loss, and her weak and powerless arms made it hard to say whether she could complete the operation under the influence of blood loss and severe pain.
Willpower is ultimately just willpower; it cannot overcome objective reality and physical laws with only willpower.
As the heart beats, blood is continuously pumped out of the body. This blood loss leads to oxygen deficiency, which in turn causes the heart to beat even more violently.
Before her internal organs, damaged by the bullet, stopped functioning, oxygen deprivation would kill Christie.
Christie calmly accepted the fact, and even had the leisure to calculate whether she died from a gunshot wound or from excessive blood loss.
Well, for so long she'd been mentally prepared to die at any moment. In some ways, dying so cleanly and decisively was even better than dying from chronic damage.
As Christie pondered these thoughts, her vision gradually faded into darkness.
However, that originally unnoticed sense of resentment seemed to be burning even more intensely.
Deep within her consciousness, boundless darkness was devouring Christie's remaining thoughts.
As Christie watched the darkness steadily advance, she fell into deep thought.
What was it that she was so unwilling to accept? Was it merely because she was about to die?
But shouldn't death be the mystery she's always been trying to solve? Now that she's faced the answer, why does she feel no joy?
This resentment is not directed at death; it arises from something else entirely.
So, starting with the simplest part, what are the things you've regretted?
This is a difficult question to answer because most people would rattle off a whole bunch of things, but that's not the case for Christie.
For a moment, Christie couldn't name even one or two things she truly regretted.
It's unlikely that he didn't do anything wrong, but it seems there's nothing he regretted, something he would dwell on even at the moment of death.
What else do you want to do...? What do you want to do?
Just as Christie was deep in thought, a fleeting thought crossed her mind.
"If I could, I'd love to see the moment those criminals are executed."
At the same moment I realized this, a sense of enlightenment was instantly born.
It's like discovering that the problem that's been trapping you is actually a very simple problem when viewed from a different angle; you've just been wasting time following your own flawed thinking. It's that feeling of "Ah, so this is so simple."
In that instant, Christie understood exactly what she had hoped to see.
Death should be beautiful, like a symphony of a sinner's agonizing descent into death; it should be a breathtaking, extraordinary death—that is what she sought.
She longed to see how captivating it was to die in the midst of sin, and in the moment when sin was burned to its brilliance.
Christie understood; she finally realized the core of what lay beneath her extraordinary sense of justice: what she sought was not the extension of justice, but the moment when evil was destroyed.
Only in the moment of shattering (death) is evil truly meaningful and most visually appealing.
How boring it would be to die like this.
What she was unwilling to accept was not the act of dying, but the fact that her death was devoid of beauty, value, and "spectacle."
This wasn't what she truly desired; it was just a boring and meaningless death.
So Christie reached out and placed her hand on the darkness.
In an instant, the darkness shattered, and the fact of "death" died.
Blood was still being pumped out of her body by her heart. But the "no one survived" within her body began to flow in place of the blood, carrying everything that was originally transported by the blood.
The unavoidable toxicity of her supernatural abilities continues to damage her vital organs. But at the same time, it is also constantly rebuilding her battered body; the very substances that were once linked to death are now beginning to sustain Christie's life.
The words "No one survived" gradually seeped from the wounds, and the black, unidentified substance flowed on the ground like liquid. One by one, mutated humanoid figures wriggled out from among this black substance and began to patrol like living creatures.
Christie knew these were her "soldiers," soldiers who had all perished.
When she truly understood the death she sought, the power to kill even its owner truly belonged to her.
It's not about reaching a reconciliation with the owner, but rather about being willing to wait together for the shattering (death) of what we've been pursuing and dreaming of.
A "soldier" stopped beside her and "supported" Christie, who was losing too much blood.
Because of the soldier's unique physical structure, calling this action "support" seems inappropriate; it should simply be Christie leaning against something.
Christie glanced at the soldier she was leaning against. Under her control, the black substance gradually changed, vaguely taking on a human shape.
“Perhaps adding another attendant would be a good choice.” Christie leaned against the soldier, his brain unusually slowed down due to lack of oxygen. “Let’s call him… Vargrave.”
The unconscious soldier did not react, but dutifully led Christie toward the safe zone.
Four months later, Christie broke away from the clock tower clerks and, in the same month, joined Romain Rolland and Jules Verne to form the UN.
"My death should be exciting, it should be magnificent. I will not allow the greatest masterpiece of my life to end so ordinarily and hastily."
"One day, I will show this ultimate art to the world."
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