Wasteland Game: Doomsday Restart

When the hymn congealed into blood scabs in the ruins and I picked up the broken cross, I finally understood that the forgiveness in the oracle was just a fig leaf for cowards. The wounds that were once filled with herbs are still oozing pus, and the children who begged me for bread have become crows' food. I picked up the rust of the guillotine under the gallows and let the seeds of revenge take root in my bones. When the first knife cut open the noble's hypocritical throat, the warm blood splashed brightly in my blind left eye - it turns out that the light given by God always needs to be exchanged for darkness. Now I have half a faded Bible hanging at my waist, and thirty treacherous silver coins hidden in the scabbard. Every new scar is a seal of justice for heaven, and every blood flower that blooms at the end of the alley every night is the sharpest irony of mercy. Look, when the white doves peck at the carrion, when the saints lift the butcher's knife, this cursed world will eventually grow a new dawn in my killing. This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.