The pale moonlight hung high in the sky, illuminating the silent and tumultuous cities, the moonlight reflecting the indifferent silver-white marble palaces and the shacks that tumbled and collapsed in the flames.

Wisps of mist passed through the burning firelight, like living creatures in the city. The mist was ethereal, covering the blood and the carnage in a cold white.

In the depths of the mist, a hoarse and distant song was faintly heard.

It was a mourning song.

Downtown area, Whitechapel area, Highgate cemetery.

Mist shrouded the silent and desolate land, and the black iron gates of the cemetery opened wide, revealing the path to the world of the dead.

Gray-white tombstones were stuck in the ground like trees, and dead trees pointed diagonally to the sky, and there was a dead silence.

Seabirds from afar brought seeds, and white wildflowers the size of thumbs grew between the muddy soil.

The tiny petals were yellowish and dew-stained, swaying gently in the cold wind, like the last breath of a buried person from the ground.

Just between the tombstones, shamans, dressed in pitch-black sacrificial robes, stand in a mire.

He stared at the tomb in front of him, in which lay a rudimentary wooden coffin.

It was a corpse that had long been cold, as if it was still alive, the corpse stared at the sky angrily, as if it was ready to draw a sword and separate life and death from the enemy.

His enemies beheaded him and he died, but his companions were victorious and brought back his body.

—Yveli. ”

The shaman pressed the wooden coffin. The eyes are merciful and complex. His hoarse voice echoed through the cemetery, as if introducing the new member to the afterlife:

"He was my loyal subordinate, a heinous villain. He followed me to the death. Don't change your original intention.

He was addicted to alcohol and violence, and was not a good husband, nor a good father, nor a good person.

He's dead. ”

The shaman spread his palms and placed the two silver coins in his hands on the pair of dead eyes, paying for his passage across the River Styx.

He took one last look at the face of the deceased and said softly farewell:

"- Avalon thanks for the dedication you have made. ”

The lid of the coffin is closed. The shaman hammered a nail for him and watched the dead sink into darkness and enjoy eternal peace.

A new wooden coffin was lifted. The face of the deceased was not hideous or serene, but only quietly asleep.

"Eric?"

The shaman looked at the face: "I know you, it turns out that you are also dead." ”

He lovingly wiped the dust from the face of the deceased and whispered:

"He's a little gangster in Downtown. Fence-sitter. I went with the flow and did a lot of things, but none of them worked.

He used to have a passion for doing something big, he couldn't wait to get ahead, and then he did everything badly.

He accomplished nothing. ”

The shaman put the silver coin on the eyes of the deceased and said goodbye in a low voice:

"May you find the meaning of life in your eternal sleep. ”

The lid of the coffin was closed, and the shaman took the hammer and pinned the 'bag' for him to go to the land of the dead.

The wooden coffin sank into the mire. Disappear -

A new coffin was delivered, this time. The shaman couldn't help but sigh softly.

"Tianzhu people, corpses are multitude. ”

He looked at the distorted face, and there was no sadness or joy in his eyes, just pity: "See you again, let me say goodbye to you." ”

He smoothed out the distorted countenance of the corpse, and whispered:

"Sixteen years ago, he came here, and the city did not refuse his arrival.

In order to get ahead, he sold banned drugs to make a living, and opened brothels for prostitution. He had two sons, one died because of this, and the other was sent back to Tianzhu, and he didn't dare to let his son know what he was doing.

In order to make money, he poisoned many innocent people, but his arrival also brought the chaotic forbidden drugs under control, and a few people were spared.

He died innocently, but he didn't deserve to die, just a poor worm who couldn't reach either.

He has given a lot to the city, and he has followed the rules.

Unfortunately, he went the wrong way. ”

The shaman put the silver coin over his eyes, closed the lid of the coffin for him, and nailed it:

"Rest in peace, your name will remain in Avalon's memory. ”-

The last thing to be delivered was a heavy iron coffin, and in the iron coffin, the man in heavy armor had passed away.

It was like experiencing the slashing of the sword, the burning of the fire, and the stabbing of the arrows, and the dead man was already completely skinless, but he did not let go of the heavy sword in his hand until he died.

The crack of the broken blade was covered with a thick color of blood, trembling gently in the cold wind, like a soul's sigh.

"Warner the dwarf, leader of the Asgardians, you died with dignity. ”

The shaman wiped the blood from his face with a handkerchief and folded his hands over his chest. He looked at his face as if he had seen the bravery and roar of his life:

"More than a decade ago, he and his men came here to replace One-Eye, selling their own force and plundering wealth.

Avalon selflessly accepted him and gave him a place.

He does not have a skilled survival skill, nor does he have an outstanding long-term vision, and he never relies on sentient beings to live, he only advocates strength and follows strength.

He was fearless to death and was a warrior par excellence. He could have made the city better, but it's a pity ......"

He put the silver coin on the eyes of the deceased, with a cold and regretful expression:

- He failed the city. ”

The iron coffin closed and sank into the mire.

The shaman turned his head and looked behind him, looking at the coffins that had been sent from the end of the white mist, and in those coffins were sleeping the dead. Some were his friends, some were his enemies, and those who could not survive in the sun died tonight and were buried in the darkness, sinking forever into the shadows of the city.

He will witness their deaths, and give meaning to their meager lives, even if they are as light as a feather-

During the long funeral, the ghost walked behind him with a cane in his hand and staggered behind him and whispered something. The shaman nodded, signaling that he understood.

Ghost Hand was silent for a moment, and asked softly, "Where the madhouse is, do we really care?"

"I asked the butcher to go, just to ask him to bring back Alberto's body, he did it, it was enough. Someone will take care of the rest. ”

The shaman said, "We only solve what we have to solve." ”

The ghost hand nodded, and heard the shaman's hoarse murmur:

"Ghost hands?"

"Hmm. ”

He looked up at the shaman's back.

The old man stared at the tombstone that was gradually growing out of the mud pool, as if talking to himself, and like a faint sigh:

"We've planted so many corpses this year, so we're sure to have a lot of flowers next year, right?"

No one responded. (To be continued......)