Wayne quietly studied the totem murals concerning the evil gods. The magic texts recorded that every one of the evil gods dwelling in Hell harbored the will to destroy the world.
By comparison, Darkness and Death were merely at odds with Nature, the Sun, and the Moonlight in matters of faith. There was no clear record that the two goddesses wished to destroy the world.
Such words could just be heard and set aside. There was indeed no clear record of any goddess wanting to destroy the world—but neither was it said that the goddesses wouldn't. One embraced Darkness, one welcomed Death; to ordinary people, this bred a certain psychological aversion.
Nature, the Sun, and the Moonlight were another matter. Wayne was willing to throw himself into their embrace.
“Master, where are the councilors' minds?”
Seeing Wayne stare at the mural without a word, Abo realized the situation was not so simple. The eight councilors, Doreen among them, had been using the underworld forces to abduct young maidens—this was far more than a simple trade of power for sex.
His heart sank. The sliver of hope that had barely risen was instantly snuffed out.
Abo waited for his master's answer, hoping he was overthinking things.
Wayne said nothing. He raised a hand and rubbed his bare crown, then turned to the dining table and, with a backhand blow, sent one of the seated councilors flying.
The round table was five meters across with only eight seats, spaced far apart—wide enough for an armored undead knight to stand between them. Yet Wayne chose to make the man yield the way all the same. Since someone always had to take a few extra steps, why not a councilor? And the fellow hadn't objected, after all.
His gauntlet pressed to the tabletop, and a ring of ink-dark gloom spread out. The deathly, corrosive power seeped bone-deep, and the five-meter round table crumbled to ash and vanished before their very eyes.
Once the wooden table was gone, a magic circle about three meters across lay exposed before Wayne and Abo.
The complex pattern was built around a pentagram, drawn in fresh blood and matching the blood totem on the wall—a textbook inverted pentagram.
As a symbol of protection and power, the pentagram was often used by mages to cast spells. Broadly speaking, it was held to represent the good—friendship, devotion, generosity, spirit, and chastity.
But turn the pentagram upside down and, well, all of that is reversed. It means the loss of good.
And the opposite of good is evil.
The inverted pentagram was usually tied to the evil gods of Hell. Depending on which evil god they worshiped, believers would add different symbols to the inverted pentagram magic circle.
The circle before them was linked to the Blood Faith, which showed that the eight councilors, even if they were not followers of blood themselves, had a direct connection to it.
The evil gods of Hell should rightfully be the business of the Holy See of the Heavenly Father. Wayne, a probationary member of the Church of Nature and the temporary holder of the Shadow Nightmare, was hardly in the right line of work—but since he had already come, there was no reason to pretend he had seen nothing.
Besides, he was a skeleton. If he went to a church in the dead of night to look for help, it would be a wonder if the priest gave him a kind look.
Wayne committed the pentagram magic circle firmly to memory, then waved his hand and scattered a corrosive aura of death. The floor tiles came loose and collapsed, swiftly turning to sand until they dissipated completely.
The deep well, three meters across, was pitch black. Abo hurried forward and peered down into the abyss. It was bottomless. His scalp prickled, and he quickly backed off two steps to keep from pitching in headfirst.
As a beginner, Wayne understood only basic magic theory and could make no sense of how the complex magic circle worked. Meeting Abo's inquiring gaze, he snorted coldly. “It's linked to a spatial passage. It only looks deep. The councilors' minds are all down there—they drank their fill of blood and got a powerful spiritual high off it.”
Abo nodded, only half understanding. This was far more horrifying than any illicit drug.
“Master, can the spatial passage be closed?”
You ask me? Then who am I supposed to ask? Why don't you hold on a moment while I ring up my teacher.
Wayne said nothing. He had never shown Abo his true face, deliberately fostering the illusion that his master was not human. At first he'd found it amusing; the longer he kept it up, the more fun it became.
Wayne had no intention of revealing his true face. He said in a low voice, “The abyss passage has a mechanism that can open it. If I'm not mistaken, the gang kidnapped the girls and delivered them here, the councilors threw the girls into the abyss, and then... it gets rather disturbing. You could call it a bloody feast.”
“Now that the magic circle is destroyed, the abyss passage will soon vanish. There's no harm in leaving it be.”
That was how it should work, anyway.
Wayne's grasp of basic magic theory was solid. Guided by the tenet that all variations trace back to a single root, he improvised with a mix of guesses. He admitted there was an element of gambling in it, but it had indeed let him seize the key point.
Soon a roar came from the dark abyss. Dimly, Abo's and Wayne's minds were disturbed, and a magnificent vision rose before their eyes.
Amid a deep, vast sea of blood, a huge figure raised its arms and roared.
Its body was majestic as a mountain, its surface covered in green scales. The dense scales bathed in sticky blood, glinting with a light called cruelty.
Curved horns spiraled back from the beast's head. Its glaring eyes were crimson as magma, and its roar rolled like thunder, setting the whole sea of blood heaving and churning, whipping up red waves that broke into cascades of crimson.
Look closely and you would see the sea of blood held more than the beast. Around it bobbed battered little boats like toys—if the sea of blood were the beast's bathtub, these boats would be rubber duckies.
But clearly, this sea of blood was the beast's hunting ground, with one and only one ruler.
One battered boat after another was capsized by a huge, crocodile-like tail. Shattered planks sank slowly, and living things seemed to rise and fall on the surface, reaching for the sky and crying for help.
The beast glared at Wayne, its roar echoing across the sea of blood, wantonly venting its power—and conveying to Wayne an irresistible fate.
Wayne had ruined the ritual and was destined to become its blood food.
Wayne: (▔皿▔)
Just tough talk—who couldn't do that? If you've got the guts, come up here!
Wayne projected a spatial illusion with his mind. An armored skeleton knight strode across the sea of blood, his vast frame casting endless shadows, looking down from on high upon the beast as he slowly drew his sword and slashed straight down.
The illusion had no power to harm, but it expressed Wayne's will: faced with provocation and threat, he would never yield.
That's right, it's me! I never change my name—the Death Knight!
I've come on the orders of the Goddess of Death, here only to wipe out evil and spread positive energy. If you don't like it, you're welcome to go take it up with the goddess.
With that, Wayne cut the broadcast and hauled Abo's mind out of the sea of blood vision.
What was happening on the other side of the sea of blood, Wayne didn't know. He only knew that showing off and then bolting was a huge thrill.
Having reaped the benefits of an alter ego, Wayne figured the more of them the better. After the goddess had bestowed the Lord of the Void's Prayer upon him, he began praying for her to grant him a second and a third piece of divine equipment.
He didn't name which goddess—any of them would do. He wasn't picky.
Abo was still reeling from the sea of blood vision. These past few days had broadened his horizons in an instant. He had taken too big a step and strained his spongy tissue; his worldview was in the middle of being rebuilt.
Wayne looked down into the deep well. With the magic circle destroyed, the spatial passage linked to the Blood Faith dispersed on its own, revealing the true appearance at the bottom of the well.
The dry well was seven or eight meters deep and still three meters wide. Neatly arranged wooden crosses were embedded in the brick-and-stone walls. Some crosses were empty; some bore emaciated women nailed in place; more still held withered, mummy-like corpses.
Blood dripped down from the crosses. The bottom of the well was a foul quagmire of blood and mud. Eight black serpents roamed the muck, swaying their heads and flicking their tongues with a hiss, like felines that had gotten into the catnip.
Black scales covered the venomous snakes' bodies, and when the light struck them, they threw back a red, bloody glow.
Sensing the light, they quickly sobered and flicked their tongues in warning at whatever was above.
Eight venomous snakes for eight councilors—their minds were lodged within the snakes' bodies.
Eerie. Really fucking eerie.
Wayne didn't know much about evil gods; this was his first time laying eyes on one from Hell. With a couldn't-care-less, if-I-don't-get-it-then-whatever attitude, he waved his hand and scattered a swath of death qi.
The gray mist turned into eight gray snakes that went after the black serpents, pairing off to fight them.
At first the venomous snakes dared to fight back. But when they found their bites had no effect on their opponents—while every bite their opponents took made their bodies rot fast and lay bare the bone—they scattered in agony.
Chasing and fleeing, until the eight venomous snakes were covered in wounds, writhing and curling up in the blood-red muck.
“Their minds are trapped inside the snakes. The pain won't let them stay conscious, so they can't end the ritual and return to their own bodies,” Wayne said slowly. “My face isn't fit for others to see. These girls are in your hands now—send the ones who can be saved to a hospital. As for the rest...”
“Deal with them in your own way!”
With that, he turned and left the dining hall.
Abo nodded and quickly dropped into the deep well, freeing the victims from the crosses and laying them flat on the dining hall carpet.
Staring at this place steeped in sin, Abo shook his head in disappointment. He thought of someone. He hurried to the mansion's living room, first called for an ambulance, and then quietly placed another call.
“Boss, it's me.”
“Bo, is that you? Is it really you? Damn it, where the hell have you been? Everyone thought you'd died in the line of duty—I almost believed it too!” The voice on the other end cursed roundly, but the delight in his words was impossible to hide.
“Sorry, Boss. I really am dead. Perry packed me in cement and dumped me in the River Thame.” Abo stated the facts calmly.
The man on the other end was Abo's superior, Officer Green. Perry had a saying that was quite true: to climb the ladder, you needed a benefactor to lift you up—and Officer Green was Abo's benefactor, one who had helped him enormously.
By taking the blame for him, for instance.
“Bo, what nonsense is this? If you're dead, who's on the phone with me?”
“I can't go into the details. Remember that case? I'm at Councilor Doreen Johnny's house right now. Bring the people you trust most. The address is...”
“Damn it, explain yourself. What are you doing at a councilor's house? Don't tell me you want me to take the fall for this?”
Abo ignored Green's roaring. After giving the address, he calmly set down the phone, rummaged around the living room, turned up a pack of cigarettes, lit one, and sat smoking on the sofa.
The cigarette's tip glowed and dimmed. Abo's pale face was full of confusion.
He didn't want any contact with his past, but matters had come to this, and he had no choice.
To win justice for the victims, he had to find someone he could trust. But if he could call the boss today, he could call Timmy tomorrow. Once the rules were broken, a person would only loosen the demands he placed on himself, step by step.
Was this right or wrong?
If the master found out, would he be angry?
...
Half an hour later, more than a dozen police cars had sealed off Doreen Johnny's mansion tight.
Officer Green watched the departing ambulance with a blank face, his expression frighteningly grim. Beyond that, stretcher after stretcher wrapped in white cloth was carried out from the basement.
And there were the eight councilors—mouths askew, eyes crossed, minds addled. Whenever one of them briefly came to, he immediately let out a heart-rending scream.
Green kept the ledger tucked against his chest, giving it to no one and insisting on keeping it on his person. He had commandeered a police force to seal off a row of eight mansions, every man loaded with live rounds, cleared to fire freely on any suspicious figure that came near.
Officer Green was in a foul mood. The case reached too far, and there was a traitor inside the department. This was one pot he'd have to carry whether he wanted to or not. At the thought of the pressure coming his way, he couldn't help cursing under his breath.
Green didn't see Abo—only wet footprints, a damp sofa, and an ashtray crammed with cigarette butts.
“Hello, Officer Green.”
A black sedan pulled up outside the police cordon. Several men in black suits stepped out, flashed their department credentials, and strode quickly up to Officer Green.
“What took you so long?” Green said with displeasure, then added, “The altar and the unreadable paintings are in the basement. I know the rules. You're the professionals—I won't pry. I have just one question.”
“Go ahead.” The man in black pulled on white gloves and let his colleagues go on ahead.
“Half a year ago, the Senior Inspector investigating this case, Officer Bo Philip, went missing. Tonight I got a call from him. He said he'd taken care of everything—but he also told me he's already dead. Could I trouble you professionals for an explanation?” Green said irritably.
The man in black was silent a moment. “As a rule, when a person dies, they're truly dead. But certain exceptions can't be ruled out. I'm afraid I can't offer you a reasonable explanation.”
“So what you're saying is, Officer Philip is dead, but he came back?”
“That kind of description... isn't entirely wrong...”
The man in black laced his fingers together, the white gloves fitting snugly between them. “Officer Green, we count as old acquaintances. Let me tell you something you won't like to hear: the fact that Officer Philip could come back is thornier than the case we're dealing with tonight.”
“What's that supposed to mean? You look down on my people?”
“No, please don't misunderstand. I'm not questioning Officer Philip's professionalism. He's an outstanding officer, worthy of everyone's respect. But...”
The man in black changed tack. “No one knows why he could come back. As a rule, we plan for the worst—we can't rule out that he's become an evil spirit, secretly controlled by some dreadful entity. If one day you run into Officer Philip, please be sure to keep your distance from him.”
Green waved a hand irritably and thanked the professional for the warning. Good advice—but too harsh to hear.
The man in black nodded and went down into the basement. Green headed out to the road, in a foul mood, and leaned against a wall corner to smoke.
“Boss!”
...
From the other side of the corner came a familiar voice. The hand lighting Green's cigarette gave a sudden jolt.
He didn't call out. Forcing himself to stay calm, he lit the cigarette and let out a long plume of white smoke. “Bo, are you really dead?”
“Dead certain. Turn around and you'll see for yourself.”
“Never mind. You must look hideous now...”
“A bit, yeah.”
“Want a smoke?”
“Give me the whole pack.”
...
The two leaned against the wall, puffing away, neither wanting to face the other. They talked softly, with no sorrow in their words. Green even asked how cold the water was at the bottom of the River Thame.
The mood was strangely warm, as if they'd slipped back into the past—until Green changed tack.
“What about Timmy? What's to become of her? Will you call her?”
“I don't know... I really don't know...”
Chapter 72