My Boss, the White-haired Nun

Next, it was our turn to decide the outcome.

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Berlin, January [-], [-].

A black-haired man woke up from the gap, staring blankly at the sky.

That might be a nice day, in Berlin in January.There was frost on the ground, but the sky was clear, shining pale light from the sky, there were no dark clouds, not even clouds, as far as the line of sight was concerned, there was only bright, dazzling light.

He realized that his left hand was the Spree River, and he looked across the river to the south, in the direction of Brandenburg, and the thick fog formed by the flames rolled back and forth like blood-stained black mud.The streets are full of gravel and rubble, and the buildings and vehicles are like seriously injured and dying people, puffing out thick smoke every now and then.

He seemed to be pulled up by someone, and the reason why he used it was because he could no longer judge whether that thing could be counted as a person to exist.That figure was full of cracks all over its body, like a piece of broken porcelain, but those lines seemed to be painted on purpose, with hot flames burning on it, or it would be more appropriate to say that the flames overflowed from those cracks.

Those fiery lights illuminated his line of sight, completely enveloped that figure in the brilliance, so that he could only vaguely discern his outline but could not see his face clearly.

That person seemed to be looking at him, and he couldn't see his expression clearly, but there was an inexplicable feeling of indifference coming from that figure, which was neither surprising nor unexpected, as if that person was waiting for his birth here, Or simply he is that person's creation.

The man reached out his hand to him and pulled him up.During this process, his hands seemed to be stained with something that was close to a liquid and seemed to be more like a degassed state. The liquid exuded the same brilliance on his hands as that of the man, but it was unexpectedly not hot. After burning for a while, it gradually disappeared, and his hand was still the same as before, without leaving any traces.

Seeing him get up, the man opened his mouth as if to say something, but he couldn't figure out what language it was.The man turned around and left, he staggered and followed, but he didn't know why he followed, but his body instinctively followed, as if it should be like this.

He staggered after the man, along the road, the ground was covered with congealed frost, he knew it was January, but he didn't know why it was January, like he recognized the Sprun River , but I don't know why I know it is the Sprun River.

He followed the figure in the light and shadow, walked around the ruins and corpses all over the ground, and walked forward numbly. There was no living person in his sight. He saw the wall that once divided the occupied area, but now there is no What kind of life still needs to be isolated.The broken bones of the corpses on the road pierced the trousers, and the white was exposed outside, and the black blood flowed out from under the shirt, not even the mosquitoes and flies came to patronize.

He knew that even at the end of April seven years ago, Berlin was far less lifeless than it is today.

Although he doesn't know why he knows.

If the war created a hell on earth, then Berlin is now a cemetery where even lonely ghosts do not exist.

The light and shadow continued to walk like that, as if guiding him, or just walking aimlessly.He saw eyes shining with light among the ashes, but when he prayed for them and his blessing hands touched their foreheads, he suddenly realized that nothing could emerge from their dilated pupils.

It is nothing but a remnant of assimilation with death.

Soon, a wall blocked him.

An icy wall blocked all the way out, and he, who was breathing heavily in white air, saw scenes that might not even exist in hell.

There is no barbed wire, no sentries, there are only one layer after another, tightly packed, cold and hard remains.

There was a thin layer of frost on the corpses, like ice cream just bought, shining with dots of cold light.

No explosion could be heard in the ear, only the flame that was cold to the bone marrow, burning quietly.

He saw panicked people miles away.Under the leadership of the mysterious group, the occupying forces are evacuating nervously. Every road leading to the city center is blocked by roadblocks, and the materials of the roadblocks are varied.He saw military sandbags, broken street lamp posts, balcony railings, machine parts, T-shaped steel beams, deformed cars and tanks, and barbed wire removed from the separation wall.

On those roadblocks, there are still a few tattered corpses hanging.Those corpses opened their arms and hands, as if they wanted to use the stiff corpses to protect something.

He suddenly realized that under his feet, there were only ashes...

But he suddenly became unwilling. Under the guidance of that light and shadow, among the phantom soul remnants on the corpses illuminated by the light emitted by that light and shadow, he began to desperately pick up the fragments of those hearts .

He couldn't call out their names, he didn't know their experience, he couldn't even understand why those monsters that didn't seem to belong to the earth would appear everywhere - he was just stubborn, picking up and picking up,

"Do you long for a savior?"

Suddenly, the light and shadow stopped, as if they were tired of the endless journey.Guangying turned around to look at him, and said aloud.

Inexplicably, he suddenly understood what the figure said.

The voice was neither soft nor loud, nor even of any character or emotion.He just vaguely felt that figure was very familiar, as if the source of the sound was himself.

"Yes! Of course!"

He felt a voice that didn't belong to him in his throat.He knelt down at the feet of that light and shadow, begging loudly.

"Then engrave their thoughts in your soul."

Light and Shadow stretched out his hand and pressed it lightly on his head. He seemed to be able to feel a burning flame coming from the hand on top of his head, covering his whole body.

Those flames dispelled the cold around him, dispelled all the stench and smoke, dispelled all the hustle and bustle, as if that was the salvation of everything.

When he came back to his senses, the light and shadow had disappeared without leaving a trace, as if it had only existed in his fantasy from the beginning.The golden flame burned fiercely on his body, as if it could illuminate all the pain in the world.

As if he himself was...

"Savior".

He lay down in a crack in the ground, he was so tired that his mind woke up instead.

He finally realized that what he did was meaningless.

Tiredness filled every cell of him.

His consciousness began to blur, gradually unable to maintain.

Butterflies landed on his fingertips.

He stared in amazement at the wounded creature before sinking into the twilight of eternal sleep.

It’s okay to have one, even if there is only one.

Those golden flames seemed to understand what he meant, and left him, rushing towards the butterfly.

He fixed its wings.

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