Chapter 352: 349, Du Wei calls GG
“I should be dead.”
Du Wei stood on the street, amidst a desolate atmosphere that beca very oppressive and absurd.
Above him, the nun’s hideous face grew increasingly larger.
aning, it was getting closer to him.
Before long, the nun would confront him face to face and kill him.
After reciting the true na, the nun had established a very close connection with him.
...
There was no refusing, no changing it.
In other words, Du Wei was on a path with no return.
Since ancient tis, the true na of demons has been a half-truth, half-lie.
The more one obsessed over the true na, the more they saw, until finally the true na was solidified, and its existence acknowledged.
“In a sense, the mont I first encountered the curse and saw those letters, I was already trapped.”
“All struggling and resistance, in fact, were aningless.”
“Death is absolute.”
“No wonder the records in the church state that no one can survive under the curse.”
Du Wei watched the nun’s approaching face, calmly eting its gaze, and even though he was about to be killed, there was not a hint of panic or confusion.
Just like Du Wei had once said.
In the face of death, one should offer the calm it deserves.
The next second.
The nun’s ugly, fierce face tilted down from the sky, like a waterfall, stirring up trendous wind and waves.
The rain poured.
Du Wei was drenched, his body barely able to remain steady, and he frowned, eventually sitting down on the ground, silently watching the nun make her move against him.
Then, he saw the nun open her bloodied maw, teeth sharp and fierce like those of a beast, black liquid flowing down from the corner of her mouth, and when it dropped to the ground, it corroded the surface like acid, forming pits and grooves.
“I’ve suddenly realized sothing.”
“The true na Valak, in fact, was given by .”
Strangely, Du Wei touched the mask on his face, and let out a low chuckle.
He laughed unrestrainedly.
And with that laughter, he was devoured by the nun, the light vanished, consciousness sank…
Simply put, “he died”.
The whole process was smooth, without the slightest struggle, not even a thought of resistance.
It was a little too easy.
…
At this mont.
Outside the dream, New York City was also suffering a downpour.
The entire psychological counseling clinic appeared especially hazy in the rain, from a distance, the whole house seed gloomy and dark, with only a vague silhouette visible.
In the living room.
The antique clock on the wall suddenly stopped moving.
Ti froze at 12:00, and the hands never moved forward even a fraction of a tick.
An indescribable sense of oppression spread throughout the room, black mist, and dense, fine threads erged from the antique clock.
Upon closer inspection, these threads were spread throughout the entire psychological counseling clinic, leaving no corner untouched.
The couch, the computer, everything had threads passing through them, becoming part of them.
The display cabinet hanging next to the antique clock was no different, except Annabelle inside it was not pierced by the threads. It shivered uncontrollably, frantically banging against the cabinet door.
But it was completely useless.
Back when Du Wei still had the Joker card, which symbolized the bet, he played a ga with her.
As the loser, Annabelle’s price was to be locked in the display cabinet forever.
Without an external force, she simply couldn’t co out.
But at this mont, the change in the antique clock caused so trouble.
The black, fine threads had already covered the display cabinet and stretched inside.
It seed to be searching for sothing, but finding nothing, beca ever more furious.
Everything inside the psychological counseling clinic, it desired to explore.
If touched by those black threads, sothing very sinister might occur.
At the very least, Annabelle’s behavior proved this much: it was terrified to the extre, seeking only to escape.
And what didn’t make sense was
that Du Wei, before he dreamt, should have been standing in front of the Antique Clock, but now, his presence had vanished from the entire living room.
He disappeared.
…
anwhile,
on the highway from Scolyn City to New York City.
About a dozen black luxury sedans were speeding along.
Hannibal and others were sitting in the cars, and those cultists, clutching excitent and fervor, were headed towards their destination.
“We’ll be able to reach New York City before dawn,”
“This ti, we will definitely not fail.”
“That man’s body will beco the dium for the descent of the gods.”
“Everyone will rember the na of our god.”
The bodies of the cultists shook with excitent as they had split into two groups: one group was taking the mirror back to Europe, and another, under Hannibal’s lead, was heading towards New York.
And yet, Hannibal’s smile grew ever more joyous as he slightly bowed his head, a strange, cunning light flashing across his eyes.
As a fellow evil spirit to Du Wei,
he was looking forward to the mont of its release.
For this, he had concocted a lie, and the Evil Spirit Du Wei, in its own way, patched up all the holes in this lie.
It made everyone hear its voice, see its power.
Of course, “gods” should be above all.
Hence, aside from Hannibal, everyone could only see its pair of icy, tranquil eyes.
No one dared to et its gaze.
“With here, that body is surely going to be yours,”
Hannibal said this to himself with great confidence.
The Veda Sect had always been at a disadvantage in their confrontations with Du Wei before because of asymtric information.
Hannibal knew Du Wei far too well, aware of many of his tactics, and also of his apparent ability to control evil spirits.
But none of these mattered to Hannibal.
For he was the nesis of evil spirits.
…
It was a long night.
The Veda Sect was en route to New York, yet Hannibal had different intentions from theirs.
The cultists had been deceived by lies, wanting their god, “Evil Spirit Du Wei,” to descend into reality, to leap out from the mirror.
But Hannibal was playing with fire; he simply wished to add another of his kind to this world.
He thought that would be quite interesting.
Evil Spirit Du Wei thought so too.
Therefore, in the Dusk Bell Church Headquarters in Switzerland, in Jas’s room, a scene unfolded that made one’s scalp tingle.
“Please, let go.”
“Pain… tornt…”
“I’m going mad; who are you really?”
“Answer , what do you truly want to do!”
Jas was kneeling on the bathroom floor, propping himself up with the only hand he had left, his body drenched in cold sweat, his face pale as paper, devoid of any color.
On the floor, the sweat had converged into a small puddle.
In front of him on the washbasin hung a mirror.
The mirror reflected his current disheveled and painful state, but what drew the eye were those eyes—cold, calm, devoid of any emotion.
“Huff… those aren’t my eyes,”
Jas stared at himself in the mirror, fixing his gaze on those eyes, his expression one of pain and ferocity.
He ground his teeth and roared, “Stop tornting ! Tell what you want to do, I will do it.”
Every night, he was tornted to the brink of ntal collapse.
Initially, it happened in dreams, but now it had crossed over into reality.
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