35 Chapter 104

In 2210, humanity suffered defeat, and the Aliens' central organization, the Tower, was established. When Horne woke up, his memories were fragmented, and he was wanted across the entire Tower city. While evading pursuit, he crashed into the arms of a strange man. The man fastened a mask onto him, and the mask immediately fused with his face. "You'll be killed without this. It's the Tower's rule." Everyone lived their lives wearing masks. But Horne soon realized that even after he put on the mask, the Tower did not revoke the warrant for his arrest. Instead, it intensified its efforts, even stirring up a storm of blood and violence. "What's going on? It seems like the Tower is very afraid of me?" "Want to know the truth? Go find Hels." "But it's best not to..." Horne faced that face he had seen not long ago, gun pointed at him, voice icy cold: "You are Hels." Hels proactively pressed his forehead against the gun barrel, his voice laced with laughter as if hearing a lover's call: "My name—does it sound good?" Later, the Aliens launched a full-scale invasion of Earth, and humanity mounted its final counterattack. Horne stepped across the riddled ruins of the city, his tone cold and resolute, leaving no room for compromise: "Humans shouldn't wear masks." "I will destroy that Tower. Hels, are you sure you want to come with me? Once we go, there's no turning back." Hels bent down and devoutly kissed the back of Horne's hand. "I love you, never turning back." Illusions shattered, dark fire unextinguished. There are always pioneers who dared to risk their lives, delving into the fog; and there are always those by one's side who tested time and again, peering into the true heart. Even amidst eternal darkness, humanity would rise from the ashes toward the light. Cold and abstinent officer bottom × deranged, lovesick villain boss top Small Theater 1: To evade the Tower's pursuit, they hid in an abandoned house on the city outskirts. Outside the window, a recon drone flew past, its sirens approaching then fading into the distance. In a chill reminiscent of some forgotten last century, Hels pinned Horne against the wall in the corner, their breaths intertwining. Hels removed the mask and whispered softly in his ear. "Fallen for me?" "Mm, fallen for you. Will you be with me?" A small knife pressed against Hels's neck, Horne's tone flat: "Think carefully before you answer, or my knife will pierce your windpipe." "I don't mind being a widower." Small Theater 2: In Loch City, where the Tower stood, Hels was undoubtedly among the richest and most powerful. Meanwhile, Horne's origins were unknown, his memories incomplete, and he was both poor and pitiable. People were convinced that Hels kept him at most as a plaything. "The boss liking Horne? We'd sooner do handstands and sweep the floor with our hair!" Horne expressionlessly kicked Hels off the bed. "What's wrong?" Hels asked him nervously. "Does it hurt? Are you uncomfortable?" Horne pointed at the door: "Get out. Have your underlings do their handstands and hair-sweeping, then come back." Hels watched his subordinates walk on their hands with a surface of impeccable sternness and icy frost, inwardly burning with rage. He had to quash the rumors—Horne was unhappy... No. He still had the strength to kick him off? Was he not trying hard enough? Next time, he'd switch things up.