I coughed up a mouthful of sticky, black phlegm, and the smoke from the warehouse blistered my lungs. Pen, fun, pavilion www. biquge。 info

But I didn't have time to catch my breath. If Trist had escaped, I would not have spent more than ten years walking through the Land of Runeterra, looking for his traces. When pigs fly.

It's over tonight.

I fired several shots in quick succession to tell him that Lao Tzu was not dead. The slippery ghost was only interested in finding a way out of the docks. He knocked over a few thugs who stood in his way and began to play cards—the same trick of the big man. I kept shooting, bullets grazing his clothes, just to keep him from focusing.

There are more and more people in the Iron Hooks, like flies around the dung pit. They tried to stop him, but they were instantly knocked down by a few red lights thrown out by him, and then ran with all their might. These miscellaneous soldiers are just a target for Trist, and I am his real opponent, and obviously he knows that.

But his fight with the minions allowed me to catch up with him. He took a lunge and scurried to the skeleton of a whale, delusionally hoping that he could drag on for some time. As soon as I shot him, all he was left with flying bones.

He returned a card and flew right into my neck—without mercy. I raised my gun and fired. The cards exploded in mid-air, knocking us both to the ground. He rolled and crawled, got up before me, and began to run again. I kept pulling the trigger of "fate" like crazy, and the firing pin bell rang violently, as if it was about to break in two in the next second.

A couple of guys with chains and scimitars in their hands approached. These are things that don't have long eyes. I quickly fired a backhand shot, and a large buckshot slammed into their chest. I quickened my pace without looking back, only to hear the sound of my internal organs falling to the ground behind me. I raised my gun and aimed it at Trist's vest, and was about to shoot when my body shook - someone had hit me with a pistol. The Hook Gang has another group of people, and they have brought even more powerful guys.

I rolled to the back of an old fishing boat and fought back against it. The barrel of the gun suddenly slammed and was empty. I angrily spat on the ground, unloaded the chamber, slammed in a round of shiny new bullets, and rejoined the fray. The dogs on the docks all came up. Bullets and arrows splattered wood chips, and the flying pieces of wood cut off a small piece of my ear. I gritted my teeth and fought back, and "fate" devoured everything in front of me like a mad dog. One guy's jaw is gone, another is lying on the beach, and another has turned into a puddle of blood-red meatloaf.

I stood up and looked back, only to see that Trist had run into the depths of the dock. I didn't hesitate to catch up. A fishmonger is hanging up a pile of skinned giant moray eels, their foul-smelling entrails still dripping down. When he saw me passing by, he waved his hook and beckoned me in the face.

Bang!

I knocked out one of his legs.

Bang! — and then the head.

I removed a rancid razorfish carcass and moved on. The sticky blood on the ground had accumulated to our ankles, partly from various seafood, and partly from the unfortunate ghosts who had died at the hands of the two of us. Right now, there was a wreckage of human and animal indistinguishable, filthy and foul-smelling—more than enough for a boy like Trist. Even though I was chasing after me, this kid still had the leisure to slow down and wipe the stains off his shirt.

Just as I was about to catch up with him, Trist kicked and sprinted. I felt like I was about to die.

"Get back to Lao Tzu!" I hissed.

How could anyone have sown to this extent? Throughout his life, he never confronted his mistakes.

There was a shout of killing on the right-hand side, and two more people with iron hooks appeared on a balcony. With just one shot, the entire balcony collapsed cleanly, even the walls and people.

The smoke rose into the air, and my eyes were so dark that I couldn't see anything clearly, but I heard a sound in my ears running over the plank—it was Triste's girly floral leather boots, and I couldn't be wrong. That direction goes to the Butcher's Bridge, and it's the only land route out of the docks. I can't let him run if I die.

As soon as I reached the bridge, I saw Trist brake sharply and slide out two steps before stopping. At first I thought he had a sudden conscience and didn't plan to run away, and then I realized what was stopping him. On the other side of the bridge, there was a large crowd of bastards with swords and shields. But I don't bird them.

Trist turned his head to look at me. Finally, I can't run. He leaned out of the railing and looked at the water under the bridge. The kid wanted to jump, but I knew he wouldn't.

All the tricks are done. He began to walk slowly towards me.

"Malcolm, we don't have to put our lives here. As soon as we get out of here—"

"And then you'll be able to slip away again. You're the best at this. ”

He didn't speak. Suddenly, he looked behind me as if I didn't exist. I looked back.

I saw a dense crowd of people, with knives or muskets in their hands, rushing towards the Butcher's Bridge. It seems that Planck called all the thugs in the city. I already smell death.

But today, it doesn't matter at all whether you can survive or not.