The place where Ince Zangwill disappeared, the light suddenly disappeared, and was stained with the thickest and deepest darkness.

In the darkness, there was a sound of chanting poetry, peaceful and tranquil, which was so soothing to sleep. Even the countless pale arms that kept grasping under the dark water became slow and no longer crazy, as if they had gained spiritual salvation.

In this "dark night", a figure walked out. It was Ince Zangwill who was just dragged into the spirit world.

Compared with before, he had lost the soft hat on his head, the clothes on his left shoulder were torn, a piece of flesh was torn off, and pale yellow pus bubbles were gurgling out one after another.

His eyes were no longer indifferent, but filled with pain, as if he was enduring torture that others could not imagine.

The quill "0-08" continued:

"Some people feel regretful, while others feel fortunate. Ince Zangwill has an 'evil god umbilical cord' in his body. It comes from the baby in Megose's belly, from the 'true creator'. By using the 'umbilical cord', he successfully escaped the shackles of the unknown existence and forcibly returned to the real world, but he also completely lost that magical item, and will bear the resentment of the evil god's offspring not being able to be born in a short period of time.

"It makes him just like some items in a department store when the season changes, only 55% of their original strength remains. Well, that number is very accurate."

…………

On a street deep in the East District.

Old Kohler hurried back to his rented apartment holding the ham in a paper bag.

He looked around vigilantly, afraid that those hungry guys with wolf-like eyes would pounce on him and snatch his "New Year's gift".

He had seen wolves when he was still in the countryside, but he didn't expect to experience that familiar feeling in Backlund.

"It's still too expensive and too big. I can only buy one together with someone and saw it into several pieces... This is enough for me to eat during the New Year holiday. I can have two, three, no, at least five slices of ham for every meal. I can also cut some off and stew soup with potatoes. I don't even need to add salt..." Thinking of this, Old Kohler looked at the ham in his arms, at the red meat mixed with a lot of white meat, and his throat couldn't help but move, and he swallowed a mouthful of saliva.

As he walked, he felt the fog around him become much thicker. The church bell tower that was still clear in the distance was gradually swallowed up by a mixture of light yellow and iron black. Even the pedestrians around him were only vague shadows if they were more than ten steps away.

Old Kohler suddenly felt like he was forgotten by the world and covered his mouth and nose with his hands.

"Why does the fog smell so bad today?" he muttered, quickening his pace.

One step, two steps, three steps, old Kohler felt his face getting hot and his forehead seemed to be burning.

His chest felt tight, his throat felt uncomfortable, and he soon had difficulty breathing.

"Are you sick? Damn it, I still want to have a happy New Year, but now I can only send my savings to the clinic and the hospital... No, maybe I'll be fine after a good sleep, just cover myself with my quilt and have a good sleep!" Old Kohler muttered to himself silently, his head getting hotter and hotter, and more and more confused.

Ho, ho, ho, he heard his own labored breathing. His hands went limp and the paper bag of ham fell heavily to the ground.

Old Kohler subconsciously squatted down to pick it up, but fell there.

He held down the bag of ham and tried to bring it into his arms.

At this moment, he thought that thick phlegm was rising and blocking his throat, so he struggled hard, making a sound like a bellows being pulled.

Plop! Old Kohler’s vision began to blur as he saw someone else fall down a few steps away, gasping for breath. He was about the same age as him, also in his fifties, with gray hair at the temples.

Suddenly, he had an epiphany and knew he was about to die.

This reminded him of his wife and children, who had also suddenly contracted the plague and soon died.

This reminded him of the time when he was hospitalized for illness. The patient in the same room was still laughing and chatting that night, but was sent to the morgue in the early morning.

This reminded him of the friends he met when he was a homeless person. As a winter passed, many of them disappeared and were eventually found stiff in bridge holes or street corners sheltered from the wind. A small number of them died from the sudden availability of food.

This reminded him of the time when he was still a good worker, when his neighbors on the block would also die suddenly. Some of them died of headaches and convulsions, some accidentally fell into the molten steel just out of the furnace, some died with pain in their bones and swelling, and some even collapsed silently in the factory, batch after batch.

This reminded him of what a drunkard said in a bar when he was trying to get information. He said:

"People like us are like straw in the field. When the wind blows, we will fall down. Even if there is no wind, we may fall down by ourselves."

The wind is coming...this thought flashed through old Kohler's mind.

While holding the paper bag of ham tightly, he reached into the pocket of his old jacket, trying to take out the wrinkled cigarette that he had been reluctant to smoke.

What he couldn't understand was why he, who was in good health, suddenly fell ill. He had experienced such thick fog before.

What he couldn't understand was that his life had just gotten on track and was developing in a good enough direction. He had received the reward paid in advance by Detective Moriarty, bought a piece of ham he had longed for to welcome the New Year, and was looking forward to tasting its deliciousness, but why did he suddenly collapse?

Old Kohler took out the crumpled cigarette, but his arm was no longer strong enough to lift and it fell heavily to the ground.

He used up the last of his strength, trying to shout out the words that had accumulated in his heart, but he could only let the weak words linger on his lips, unable to come out.

He heard his last words.

He heard himself asking:

"Why?"

…………

Inside an apartment building on the edge of the East Side.

Liv hung up the last of the laundry to dry.

She looked at the sky outside and was a little confused about the time because of the fog that had become thicker at some point.

"Anyway, it's still early, and our laundry work has been completed..." Liv's expression gradually became heavy.

Finishing work too early is not a good thing. It does not mean you can rest. It only means that you have not worked enough and your income is insufficient.

Liv took a breath, turned around and said to her eldest daughter Freya, who was wiping her hands and looking at the word book in the next room:

"It's almost New Year's Day, and most of our employers have left Backlund and are going on vacation elsewhere. We can't go on like this, we have to find new jobs."

She said as she walked towards the door:

"During festivals like this, the rich will hold banquets one after another. They may not have enough servants, so they may hire temporary kitchen cleaners. I plan to ask them. Freya, you stay home and pick up Daisy when the time comes. We need income, and so do those thieves, robbers, and human traffickers who are raised by bitches to welcome the New Year."

In the East District, every woman who did not work in a factory had to have either skills or a strong personality in order to survive.

Freya replied briskly:

"OK."

Her mind had already drifted to the small table and vocabulary book next door.

Liv had just opened the door when she suddenly stumbled and fell to the ground.

Cough, cough, cough! She coughed violently, her face flushed red, and every joint in her body ached unbearably.

Freya ran over in panic and squatted down:

"Mom, what's wrong with you? Mom, what's wrong with you?"

"No, cough, I'm fine." Liv's breathing became increasingly difficult.

"No, you are sick, sick! I will take you to the hospital right away!" Freya tried hard to help her mother up.

"It's too expensive, too, expensive, well, go to, Charity Hospital, Charity Hospital, I can wait, no, no big problem." Liv replied breathlessly.

Freya burst into tears and her vision quickly blurred.

Just then, she felt her lungs burning, her body suddenly went limp, and Liv fell to the ground with her.

"Freya, what's wrong with you? Ahem, you're sick too?" Liv shouted anxiously, "The money is in, ahem, in the hole in the wall, blocked by the cabinet. Hurry, hurry to the hospital! Find a good, good doctor!"

Freya wanted to say something but no sound came out. She looked up and saw the door of the next room.

That was their bedroom, with their bunk beds, her favorite small table and vocabulary book.

Her body suddenly twitched.

Liv's coughing stopped abruptly.

Inside the public elementary school on the edge of the East District, the fog was not yet thick, but many students had already begun coughing.

The teacher on duty had received training and immediately instructed:

"Hurry, go to the church, go to the church next door!"

Daisy stood up in panic and followed the crowd to the church next to the school.

Suddenly, her heart skipped a beat and she felt panicky as if she had lost something important.

...Mom...Freya...Daisy turned her head suddenly and tried to rush back home against the crowd.

However, she was stopped and was grabbed by the teachers and forcibly dragged to the church.

Daisy struggled hard and cried out heart-wrenchingly:

"Mom! Freya!"

"Mom! Freya!"

…

In the East District, the dock area, and the factory area, those who were old or had hidden illnesses fell one after another in the fog like felled trees. Those who came into contact with them were infected with the plague and died quickly. Even the adults and children who were still in good health felt slightly unwell.

In their eyes, the mist mixed with light yellow and iron black was like the descending "God of Death".

On Tuesday of the last week of 1349, Backlund was hit by a heavy fog.

…………

In the corner of the hall, Klein pressed himself against the stone wall to avoid being discovered by Mr. A.

Soon, he heard muffled groans and smelled the smell of rotting flesh.

"Give your life for the coming of the Lord." Mr. A's voice suddenly sounded.

Plop, plop. The sound of a heavy figure falling reached Klein's ears. A strong spiritual fluctuation emerged and echoed continuously.

Mr. A sacrificed his four waiters? Just as this thought came to Klein's mind, he heard illusory layers of crying sounds. Someone was calling for his mother, someone was coughing violently, and someone was groaning in pain.

As a half-expert in mysticism, Klein seemed to see a series of illusory and transparent figures with unwilling resentment, entering the ceremony one after another, and the suppressed emotions such as numbness, despair, pain, and resentment that had accumulated in the factory area, dock area, and East District for many years also surged in like a tide.

Has it officially begun? Klein closed his eyes, leaned his back against the wall, and clenched his right hand suddenly, then loosened it.

The best option for him at this time was to slip out of the hall and escape far away while Mr. A was concentrating on the ceremony.

His right hand loosened and tightened, tightened and loosened, many times in a row.

Seven or eight seconds later, Klein opened his eyes, with the corners of his mouth curled up exaggeratedly.

He reached out and grabbed the revolver, turned suddenly, and rushed out.

Wearing a black frock coat, he raised his right hand and aimed at the altar.