Chapter 49 The King of the End and the Beginning

"Are you testing me?" Sherlock Holmes asked.

The blonde woman played with the water without comment, looking uninterested in his question, and the man sat down and placed his hands on the eyes of the dead man, clasping his hands together.

"May the shadows protect your eternal sleep." He said quietly.

These two were definitely not human, Holmes' intuition told him so.

They might be the kind of creatures, the holders of the power that humans desire so much.

"It's a long story." The man crossed his fingers and didn't seem to want to say more. "In fact, you disturbed us."

"You don't seem to be very cautious." Holmes said, "You don't seem to be afraid of being witnessed."

"Because it doesn't matter." Gold said, the water in her hands shone with a golden color, "The people who witnessed us are either dead or forgotten."

"But you have also left a mark in human history." Holmes said.

"Yes," Gold smiled and said, "It's a trace, not a memory, isn't it?"

"You can also choose to remember us." She smiled and touched the syringe that rolled to the ground with her toes. "Of course, a few people managed to leave a few words about us."

"We can only erase memories, not traces." Gold said, "And most traces are left by damage."

"For example, □□." She said, and picked up a little white powder contemptuously, "Some humans believe that taking it can see the gods, but in fact it only hurts the human brain and compensates them with some illusory castles in the air."

"Hurt the human brain." Holmes stared at the white powder.

"Well." Gold said, "Psychotropic drugs rarely let go of the human brain. I have to say that this miracle created by nature for tens of millions of years in your head is indeed very powerful, so in order for humans to have unrealistic dreams, it can only be slightly stopped." Gold said.

"Someone carved letters into their arms to record our stories. If you want to seal our stories in your brain, maybe you can try to make a wound there?" Gold raised a finger and nodded mercilessly. "This way, when your wound is awakened, your memory will also be awakened."

"But I want to remind you of one thing." Gold said softly, "People who stare into the abyss will not have a good end."

"And everything is your own will." She said, "We are not human saviors."

"We are just another kind of creature." The man added, "We have our own world and things we have to do. In fact, it is our misfortune to pass by your world."

The young man with gray eyes picked up the intact syringe on the tray without hesitation, drew the liquid that had not been injected into the syringe, and then rolled up his sleeves to expose his blood vessels.

Gold stared at him intently, his blood-red pupils dilated slightly.

He created the scar, so this memory was not successfully deleted.

Holmes thought, he stood on the altar, covering his head, and he chose to step into this world again and again.

Now, in this black pyramid, he will have to make another choice.

He reached out and grasped the dagger. The chain retreated like a poisonous snake, and the dagger fell into his hand.

This tragic ancient murder story had actually long been revealed by the murals. A pair of brothers got Gold's ring, which symbolized supreme power and wealth. The elder brother inherited it first, and then was cut into pieces. The younger brother found it among the remains.

However, the power and wealth it brought were false, and the pain of losing his brother was real.

So he used this ring to lure Gold out. He

stabbed her chest with this dagger.

But she would be born again.

All this seemed to be meaningless.

Even the legend of gold became more well-known because of this legendary story.

So the younger brother covered up everything and died forever as an ugly regicide, not a glorious godslayer. Only this dagger recorded the only glory of his life.

Holmes picked up the dagger and stabbed it into his arm. Red blood flowed out. He knew that only harm could be recorded.

He made a choice again. He wanted to remember all this, even though it meant that he would have to step into this world again.

When he woke up, he was lying in a hospital in Cairo. Mycroft sat beside him and complained that he had used almost all his connections to find him out of the desert.

"I'm not in the desert." He said, and then the next moment he suddenly realized that he didn't know where he was or what he had experienced.

"Why did I come to Egypt?" he asked.

"Academic research." Mycroft said, he reached out and took out a small black leather notebook from his inner pocket, "Research the relationship between Egyptian spices and paranoia." Paranoia

, Holmes thought, he turned his head and looked out the window, behind the tall palm trees was a sandy plain.

"And you're injured." Mycroft said, he pointed to the bandage wrapped around the young man's arm, "cut by a knife with very ancient processing technology."

"Where's the knife?" Holmes reached out and tried to remove the bandage. For some reason, his body was very inflexible, almost limp, as if he had been lying in bed for a long time.

"How many days have I been lying there?" he asked.

"It's hard to say," said Mycroft. "If you mean in the hospital, three days."

"But it is speculated that you may have been lying in the desert for five days." Mycroft said, exhaling. "Although it is hard to believe, you did lie in the desert for a long time and did not die. The doctor speculated that you may have fallen into a state similar to hibernation, preserving water and energy."

"But about paranoia." Mycroft shook the notebook in his hand, "I can tell you that about the classmate who committed suicide in Cambridge, maybe his brain was indeed hollowed out before his death. This is not paranoia, but a real thing."

"Don't worry about that." Holmes said. He actually didn't know why he suddenly spoke out to stop Mycroft.

There was a voice in his heart that Mycroft was not obsessed with these things, and he should not drag Mycroft into the abyss because of his obsession.

Why did he think so.

The young man's gray eyes stared at the shadow of the house.

He didn't know what was in the shadow. He only knew that looking at the shadow would evoke some unnamed pain in him, reminding him to remember something.

"It seems that the trip to Egypt is not going well." Mycroft said, stuffing the notebook back. He never asked a question.

Holmes blinked, "You won't tell your father, right?"

"Yes." Mycroft Holmes blinked, "Come to think of it, you also said this to me when my mother died."

Mother died.

He seemed to remember something.

When my mother died.

He stood in the corridor of the tuberculosis sanatorium and saw his mother stand up, stand up from the pale shroud, and turn into a pale golden thing. She was wearing seal fur and walking barefoot on the ground.

Sherlock Holmes did not remember his mother.

Because she had an infectious disease, she would avoid direct contact with them, so he rarely even saw her face.

When she lived in this seaside sanatorium.

He knew very well in his heart that she would not leave here. These were her last days. It

was rumored that when the mother of the British Isles left, she would wear seal fur and jump off their special white coast.

Golden floating light dots would appear on the sea, and the door to the utopia would open for the innocent.

He saw a person walking in front of his mother. It was a little girl. There were countless star-like light dots floating on her side, and elves with dragonfly wings were blowing trumpets.

"Where are you going?" The boy called the little girl.

The girl stopped.

She had a pair of special eyes, one was golden, with a five-pointed star in it, and the other eye was blue-silver, with a six-pointed star in it.

"I will take them to where they should go and turn them into new energy," she said.

"I am Luna," she introduced herself politely, "the king of the end and the beginning."

"When humans return to reincarnation, I will transform them into nutrients," she said, "If they return to eternity, they will be collected by Frey and put into a bronze coffin."

"So you may not meet me again." The girl said softly, "Because your mother told me that you and your brother are both extraordinary people, and will be put into a bronze coffin."

"Did she say that?" The boy felt his throat dry for no reason.

"So you have to say goodbye forever." The girl said quietly, "Forever, we will never meet again."

"Anything else to say?" She asked, raising her head.

"So from a certain perspective, you are the god of death." The boy asked.

The girl shook her head. "No one is worthy of being the god of death."

"Death is broad and merciful, and all sins and pains will be eliminated in its embrace," she said. "No one can give this mercy alone. This is a gift from God to the world."

The boy opened his mouth and was about to say something when the girl suddenly stopped and a dagger appeared from her chest. She blinked in confusion and looked at the man with tears streaming down his face behind her.

"Give me back my son!" he shouted, twisting the handle of the knife in his hand.

"But I am not the god of death." She sighed.

She gently put down the lamp in her hand, as if she was not surprised by this ending. The girl quickly fell to the ground, and these souls turned from golden to dim and disappeared in the night.

A small key fell to the ground with a crisp sound.

The man fell to the ground and stared at the night sky blankly.

Holmes squatted down, picked up the small key, and leaned over to look at the girl's face.

He suddenly felt the world around him change, ashes fell like snowflakes, and he stood in a familiar yet strange courtyard.

The girl lay on the pale ground, her face slightly tilted, "This is not your home, you shouldn't be here."

"Is it your home? Is there a hospital you can go to?" The boy picked up the girl, "You need emergency treatment now."