manynovel Page 375
Page 375
Followed by.
not far away.
In one of Los Angeles’ worst bars, neon lights whirred, the smell of cheap whiskey mingled with the stench of blood, and a drunken woman suddenly stood on the bar.
Her eyes flashed with a blinding light.
Constantine, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips, tapped his fingers on the bar counter with an ominous rhythm. His trench coat collar was turned up high, as if he were ready to flee from something terrible—a judgment that was usually quite accurate.
in the corner.
A woman who should have been dead for three hours suddenly opened her eyes.
“Ian Kent!”
Her voice echoed throughout the nightclub.
"I know you're still alive!" The woman's scream pierced everyone's eardrums like shards of glass. Everyone stared at her in horror, as if they were seeing a madwoman.
Upon hearing the shout, Constantine's cigarette fell into the whiskey with a hissing sound. His fingers froze in mid-air, and his spine felt as if it had been filled with liquid nitrogen.
There was not a trace of emotion in it.
It was purely a stress response.
The goddess of creation moved her wrists, which were now covered in a foul odor, and a faint golden light shone through them. She looked around, her gaze sweeping over each trembling drunkard like a searchlight.
Finally, the goddess keenly focused on the man in the trench coat—he was trying to cover his face with a newspaper, but unfortunately, the clown laughing photo on the front page of the Gotham Daily was not discreet enough.
"Constantine, do you know Ian Kent?" The goddess's voice appeared in Constantine's ears. Constantine looked up and saw the woman who should have been dead standing in front of him.
The essence within the other body sent shivers down his spine, filling him with fear. Constantine's Adam's apple bobbed. Through the gaps in the newspaper, he saw curiosity flickering in the eye sockets of the walking corpse.
"Forehead……"
As a scoundrel who had spent years traversing between heaven and hell, he immediately recognized the level of disaster—the kind that would make even Satan revise hell's fire prevention plan overnight.
"What do you want with Ian Kent?" He slowly put down his newspaper, revealing the perfect smile of a professional conman, a smile that made him hesitant to use any magic tricks at this moment.
at this time.
Constantine only wanted to test the other party's situation.
“He did me a huge favor, I have to reward him.” Where the finger of the corpse occupied by the Goddess of Creation traced, small golden flowers bloomed on the mold on the bar.
Constantine's brain started working at a near-explosive speed.
Hear the words.
He immediately knew what he should say.
"That saint! Brave! Decisive! A moral exemplar!" Constantine recalled the first time he met Ian, a mere mortal who dared to steal their car.
Isn't that brave and decisive?
obviously.
The exorcist detective also mastered the art of being honest.
Recalling his experience of selling a car and being chased by Ian, leaving him in a sorry state, he described Ian's enthusiasm and how Ian's henchmen and lackeys abandoned him when he was hanging there, leaving him only his underwear. He commented that even Ian's friends were helpful.
It's all the truth.
The goddess's eyes lit up, as if she had heard a touching story.
"I see. It's not surprising that he would have these qualities to help me at such a great risk. It seems that the rare kindness and goodness that humanity has is all occupied by him."
The goddess of creation, preconceived notions, believed Constantine's assessment.
Constantine was just about to breathe a sigh of relief.
He wanted to ask something else.
however.
"Click~"
The chandelier on the ceiling fell down without warning.
"boom!"
When Constantine crawled out of the pile of broken glass, the body had become a real corpse. The bar was so quiet you could hear the ink leaking from his pen in his pocket.
"Oh my god, what did that boy do to deserve this?" He lit a new cigarette with trembling hands, only to find all the other patrons huddled in the corner, looking at him like he was a plague.
Even the perpetually drunk and unconscious old Jack was soberly holding up the cross.
The bartender quietly pushed a glass of milk towards me.
"Consider it my treat, but don't come again."
“I have to run, I have to run to another planet. Who knows how to get to a parallel universe? Damn it, that probably won’t help!” Constantine stared at his disheveled reflection in the milk glass and suddenly really, really wanted to call Ian Kent—he really wanted to know how many gallbladders the other man had to have such audacity.
Inside Luther Industries' underground laboratory, the blue flames of the incinerator emitted a low rumble. Two workers in protective suits were pushing in today's failed test subject.
"Number 47 failed again?" The young assistant looked at the humanoid creature on the cart.
The veteran employee, a cigarette dangling from his lips, waved his hand dismissively: "Burn it, burn it. The boss said all of these Kryptonian genetically modified bodies should be disposed of—"
The "corpse" on the cart suddenly opened its eyes.
“Ian Kent!”
The test subject sprang up abruptly, its rotting vocal cords emitting a high-pitched scream. Its eyeballs melted rapidly under the intense heat, yet it still managed to precisely grip the young assistant's protective mask.
"He's alive!—"
The young assistant was horrified.
The veteran employee reacted very quickly, kicking the cart.
The metal cart carrying the berserk experimental subject slid into the incinerator with a clang. As the furnace door closed automatically, they could still hear muffled shouts coming from inside.
“Ian Kent! I know you’re here—”
The incineration process started automatically, and the 3,000-degree high temperature instantly turned everything into smoke.
The young assistant slumped to the floor: "What...what was that thing?! Who is Ian Kent?"
The veteran employee took a deep drag on his cigarette, his trembling fingers crushing the butt flat: "Listen, kid, even though the boss has been out of contact for a few days, there are some taboos you still need to know."
He lowered his voice, "If you want to get paid this week, never mention the surname 'Kent' in our company again. Any boss who hears that surname will just make you disappear."
These words frightened the young employees.
And just then.
A muffled "thump" suddenly came from the ventilation duct.
The two of them craned their necks and looked up, seeing the vent cover vibrating rhythmically, as if something was crawling up from deep inside the pipe, and they could vaguely hear it.
".Kent Ian Kent"
The veteran employee threw down his cigarette butt and ran away.
"Damn it, it's a ghost! A ghost! I need a time off! I request a time off!!"
The young assistant froze for two seconds, then suddenly noticed a glowing handprint slowly appearing on the observation window of the incinerator—he too was terrified and fled in panic.
Only after running outside and relaxing did the young employee realize that his crotch was now damp. Inside the laboratory, after the corpse had completely lost its possibility of existence, the Goddess of Creation once again lost her body.
at the same time.
The invisible light flowed again toward the new corpse.
In an abandoned factory in the eastern part of the metropolis, gunshots crackled like popcorn. One gang was having a "friendly exchange" with another, bullets tracing beautiful parabolas in the air, occasionally interspersed with polite greetings like "Your mom was great last night."
Suddenly, all the gunfire stopped.
"Damn it." A bald, burly man with a skull tattoo pointed tremblingly to the corner. "Boss, isn't that...that traitor we just killed?"
In the corner, the corpse, whose head should have been blown apart, slowly sat up. Bullets clattered out of the bullet hole in her temple, like winning a prize in a slot machine.
The goddess of creation moved her chin in her new body, and the shattered jawbone snapped back into place with a crack. She looked around, her gaze quickly settling on a figure humming a song—
"Candied hawthorn berries~ Candied hawthorn berries~ One bullet on a skewer~"
A witch in a purple cloak was using magic to hang gang members one by one on streetlights, making it look like she was selling human flesh candied hawthorns from a distance. She hummed softly with each one she hung, a cheerful tune like a kindergarten teacher playing a game with children.
"you."
The goddess's voice caused the three nearest gang members to stop breathing on the spot. "A fortune teller?"
The witch's humming stopped abruptly. She slowly turned around and saw a corpse with half its head rotten floating towards her—floating in a physical sense.
Because the corpse's feet were still growing.
"Strictly speaking, I'm a witch, but I can indeed tell fortunes. I've bought quite a few fortune-telling books." The witch's "wand" stealthily pointed at the corpse's chest. "Madam? Are you sure you don't want to call an ambulance first?"
She's still quite bold and unfazed by what she's seen.
“I’m looking for Ian Kent.”
The goddess's rotting fingers swept across the air.
"To divine his position."
She is issuing orders.
The witch frowned, instantly becoming alert.
"What do you want with Ian Kent when you're a corpse with half your head rotten and now you've come back to life?" The witch leaned back tactically, her eyes full of wariness.
"I want to thank him for freeing me." The goddess tilted her head, her rotten head was healing rapidly, but her neck, which was not yet fully healed, almost fell off.
"He helped me a lot."
This is a very sincere expression.
Despite the somewhat condescending tone.
The witch's expression instantly changed from wary to knowing.
“Oh—you should have said so earlier! Ian is like this, he really likes to help strangers.” She casually pointed to the mushroom cloud still smoking in the distance, “He lives over there, yes, the one that blows up houses all the time. We all call it ‘Kent’s Chimney,’ he often sets mushrooms on fire at home for fun. It’s a pity he doesn’t want to take me with him.”
The witch's tone carried a hint of regret.
“Very good, you are very friendly.” The goddess turned to leave, but suddenly floated back. Her fully grown face came close to the witch's, so close that the witch could count the blood vessels in her eyes.