The clear morning light streamed through a small, prismatic window in the cathedral's towering stained-glass, like the pupil of heaven, precisely pouring a pure, flowing waterfall of spectrum that enveloped the solemn oak pulpit.
Red, orange, yellow, green, cyan, blue, and purple, the vibrant beams of light danced and intertwined on the ancient wood grain, creating a veil-like sacred halo.
Just above this ethereal spectrum, a purer, almost unblemished, dazzling white light, like a stage spotlight, fell precisely, illuminating the bronze crucifix hanging on the wall behind the pulpit with exceptional clarity.
On the crucifix, the weathered figure of the crucified Jesus, head bowed, with tangled and realistic stone-carved hair, seemed frozen in heavy anguish.
His eyelids were slightly closed, and his lips were pursed downward into an eternal and profound arc; the stone-carved pupils seemed to penetrate the obstruction of his eyelids, revealing unspoken compassion and divine forgiveness under the sculpting of light and shadow.
A millennia-old, benevolent silence.
However, this sanctity, deliberately adorned by sunlight with an almost theatrical effect, was now mercilessly torn apart by the abyss so close at hand.
Piercing screams, dying gasps, the dull thud of flesh colliding, the sharp whistle of blunt objects tearing through the air—these sounds, like a soundtrack from hell, shattered the tranquil frame constructed by the halo.
Beneath the altar, less than thirty paces from the sacred image, at the intersection of light and shadow, the thick, almost tangible smell of blood hung heavy.
Dismembered limbs, torn clothing, twisted and fallen bodies were strewn across the cold stone floor; dark red viscous liquid snaked wantonly, pooling into eerie puddles between the bricks, reflecting the dazzling and illusory light and shadow from above.
The edges of several particularly glaring pools of blood had even begun to congeal and darken.
At the edge of this purgatory of flesh and blood, two or three figures were still wildly wrestling and tearing at each other, their movements savage and chaotic, as if stripped of all human restraint, leaving only the struggle and roars of beasts.
Beneath Jesus's lowered eyelids, the solidified gaze of mercy and the deathly slaughterhouse before him, flowing with madness and suffocating with despair, formed a suffocating, sharply extreme contrast.
God's gaze no longer fell upon devout believers, but upon the destructive final act of sin and punishment, life and death, playing out within the sanctuary.
The purer the light, the more grotesque the shadow.
The deeper the compassion, the more blinding the madness. This irony, constructed by position, light, shadow, and conflict, was like an ice pick, deeply piercing the church's heart, freezing the very air.
As for the pastor who had been fervently preaching on the altar from the beginning, he now lay in a pool of blood beneath the altar, his chest stabbed numerous times.
It was unclear which out-of-control believer had done it.
At this moment, Johnny decisively snapped a burly man's neck. He gasped for breath, looking at the six people stumbling towards him.
Johnny unhesitatingly tossed the dagger in his hand, then reached out and pinched the tip of the dagger in mid-air, sharply flinging it towards a woman in front.
Pfft!
In his right ear, the climax of "Time (Official) - MKJ" surged again!
(It's time)
The tip of the dagger precisely pierced the woman's throat.
(It's time you do what you were put on earth to do)
The woman clutched her neck with both hands, silently screaming, but the gushing blood blocked her windpipe, preventing any sound from escaping.
(It's time you let go of negative people)
Then, Johnny drew his FN 57 from under his armpit and fired five shots at the remaining five people walking towards him.
(And habits and move to higher ground)
Five 5.7mm bullets instantly tore through the back of their heads, splattering blood and pale brain matter everywhere.
(It's okay to waste time but only on things you truly love and enjoy)
Listening to the music in only one ear, Johnny slowly walked towards the woman frantically struggling on the ground. He was breathing heavily; fifteen consecutive minutes of high-intensity combat, though a one-sided slaughter, still consumed a lot of energy.
He slightly adjusted his gun, aiming it at the woman struggling on the ground. At this moment, the woman seemed to regain some clarity; her eyes were filled with terror and a desperate will to live.
"Too late."
Johnny slowly uttered these two words, then pulled the trigger.
Bang!
The woman, who had been frantically struggling, instantly stopped moving.
The jarring background noise continued to blare, but no one in the church was left standing.
Johnny raised his hand and directly shot the speakers hanging in the four corners, and the entire church instantly returned to a profound silence.
It was a complete and utter silence.
Blood was splattered everywhere, some in radial patterns, others in pools. The entire church floor was covered in sticky blood and brain matter, making every step feel gooey.
Freed from the infrasonic interference, Johnny slowly regained his senses.
The urge to kill quickly receded from his heart. He looked around.
Bodies, bodies everywhere, nothing but bodies, in various postures, men, women, old, and young.
Johnny sighed softly.
As a killer, he had killed many people, but this was his first time killing so many at once.
However, this time, he chose to kill so many people to save Harry, even though it was an accident.
Just as he had said to Michael three months ago, about saving one person by slaughtering an entire city.
The scene at this moment was strikingly similar to his words, but the only difference was that these fanatical cultists had been completely brainwashed, with no possibility of salvation, and the infrasound had exacerbated their bloodthirsty frenzy.
Harry, outside the door, naturally heard the gunshots from inside, but he didn't immediately push the door open. Instead, after a moment of thought, he slowly opened the main door.
What greeted his eyes, besides the bodies strewn across the floor and the splattered blood everywhere, and the suffocatingly dense smell of blood, was Johnny standing in the very center of the church, his back turned to Harry.
His gaze passed over Johnny, resting on the crucified Jesus statue that seemed to be directly above Johnny's head; it all appeared so ironic.
"Are you alright?"
When he said this, Harry was somewhat wary because he saw the FN 57 in Johnny's hand.
He didn't believe his bulletproof vest could withstand the 5.7mm armor-piercing rounds of the FN 57 Shooting.
So he was very cautious, afraid that Johnny had not yet regained his sanity, even though all the surrounding sounds had disappeared.
"Okay, I'm good."
After replying, Johnny glanced at the crucified Jesus statue directly in front of him.
Then he turned around and looked at the wary Harry.
"Don't worry, I've recovered, just a bit tired."
Harry's mouth twitched. Of course, you killed over a hundred people; how could you not be tired?
But Harry was also very grateful to Johnny. If Johnny hadn't saved him, he would probably be the one killing these hundred-plus people now.
Even if his psychological fortitude was strong enough, could he truly face such a scene?
And the guy hiding behind the scenes, it's time he came out, right?
"Thanks for earlier!"
Harry said with gratitude, even though he wasn't good at expressing himself.
Johnny didn't reply, still breathing heavily, but he put away his FN 57. Then he stepped towards Harry, each step difficult because the blood plasma stuck to his soles.
"Let's go, we should head out too."
Johnny waved his hand, looking a bit exhausted.
He took one last deep look at the statue of Jesus before stepping over the church threshold.
Outside, the sunlight was dazzling, forming a stark contrast with the dark and bloody interior.
—
Thanks to Ming Renzu of Wei for the boba milk tea reward, and thanks to user 12956460 for the Update reminder (Update reminder - reminder to update). Thank you all for your rewards and recognition.
I saw comments saying my settings were problematic and that I deserved to be criticized. I just want to say, if you can do it, then you go ahead! What's the point of just flapping your gums?
I was just tired of the invincible Dragon Aotian trope, so I chose to write my own story. All this babbling, one-star ratings, and mockery… If I were still writing on Qidian or Zongheng, and you paid to read my book, then I'd accept your criticism. But you're reading for free on Lanshizi, so what are you complaining about?
And you're being picky. I said at the beginning that it's not brainless wish-fulfillment, so if you don't like it, don't read it.
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