The Creators: From Night City

Page 397

Smoke and dust rose everywhere.

The immense force drove the axe deep into the opponent's skull.

Despite the damage to its brain, the werewolf lying prone on the ground still had the ability to move.

It's like a frog whose central nervous system has been punctured, still involuntarily twitching its body.

The wound heals at a speed visible to the naked eye.

So Father Gascoigne could only act like a seasoned butcher, swinging his axe again and again, severing the opponent's limbs, ripping open its chest cavity, and thoroughly draining the blood from its body.

In the process, he inevitably became stained with this foul yet sweet blood.

Warm blood splattered on his coat, on the back of his hands, and on his face.

The blood seemed to possess a life of its own, writhing and probing into his body, transforming his thoughts, corrupting his will, and connecting with the blood within him that had undergone 'blood therapy,' thus awakening the most fundamental aspect of his being.

A beastly nature is emerging.

After all, humans are animals too.

Short, coarse hair slowly peeked out from his chin and cheeks, and the air seemed to fall into an eerie stillness.

But it was not night, and Father Gascoigne's restless heart was quickly suppressed by the reality of the bright daylight.

"I can't kill anymore." The priest's consciousness was beginning to grow tired and blurred.

"The technique was very swift and skillful."

A woman's voice came from the entrance, which immediately alerted the old hunter.

But the next moment, a familiar call stirred his heart.

Gascoigne

The old hunter was deeply moved by his wife's call.

Humanity began to awaken in him.

"Why are you here? Didn't I tell you to stay home? It's too dangerous at night."

Vera wanted to give her husband a hug, but the old hunter stopped her.

The continuous battles and killings had completely soaked his hunter's uniform in blood.

"I'm really worried about you, and Vivian and the other two are also arguing about your safety. After all, today has been quite unsettling, and it seems that several of our neighbors have encountered some misfortune."

Upon hearing about his two beloved daughters, the old hunter's face immediately broke into a helpless smile.

This smile caused the invisible aura surrounding him to dissipate rapidly, and even the coarse, short animal hair silently retracted into his body.

"Is there enough incense at home? Are they going to encounter any danger now that you've come out?"

"Don't worry, there's enough incense, and I've reinforced the doors."

“Go home, Father,” the raven suddenly spoke.

"you are?"

"Who I am is not important. Leaving two little kids alone at home is not a wise move. After all, you should have felt it too. The intensity of this 'Night of the Hunt' far exceeds any previous one."

Father Gascoigne flicked the blood off the axe, admitting that the other man was right.

"Furthermore, don't you find it strange that the Healing Church hasn't reacted at all despite the commotion you've caused?"

The crow scanned the haphazardly lying corpses of the 'beast-like patients' in the cemetery, its gaze carrying a pointed meaning.

The priest's eyes narrowed instantly beneath his top hat.

"Where is their body collection team?" the crow continued to ask.

“Besides, you saw it there too,” she said, pointing to the forbidden forest to the south.

"That meteorite?"

"In short, tonight looks like a turbulent night," the crow concluded.

After a long pause, the priest finally nodded.

Thank you for the advice.

In fact, even without the crow speaking, he had already decided to leave.

After all, compared to the work offered by the Healing Church, a wife, children, and a warm bed are more important.

After parting ways with the two, the crow was single again.

However, it doesn't matter. Hunters rarely act in groups. Apart from the very first few major operations when the hunter group was first established, hunters usually choose to act alone.

After all, during these crazy "hunting nights," the hunters' enemies are not only those suffering from "beast disease" and strange, unknown creatures, but also their own companions and themselves.

After all, every experienced hunter knows that the seeds of chaos are buried within every Yharnam person.

Therefore, hunters tend to act alone until they are absolutely certain of their companions' safety.

The Forbidden Forest is located in the southern part of Yharnam, connecting to the long-decayed Byrenvis.

It is called the Forbidden Forest because this black forest is full of taboos that ordinary people cannot look at directly.

Unidentified white flowers bloom along the forest path, and the muddy road is covered with some kind of withered grass that looks like magnified wild animal fur.

The trees in the Forbidden Forest are all withered and deformed. Their numerous branches do not grow straight upwards, but spread out in all directions like sea urchins, as if trying to pierce into the invisible soil in the air to draw nutrients.

The crows once again ventured into the forest.

However, unlike her last visit, this time there was neither the burning blood wine thrown by the frenzied 'beastly residents' nor the mercury bullets fired from various corners out of nowhere.

It was deathly quiet here.

There are villages on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, after all, this is also the burial ground of the city of Yharnam.

Whether out of custom or some unseen taboo, Yanan does not have the custom of cremation. After death, the deceased are sent to the great cemetery in the forbidden forest for proper burial.

Over the years, the cemetery keepers and funeral processions built a simple village on the edge of the forbidden forest.

On the suspension bridge leading to the village entrance, the crow was surprised to find that there was no one around, only a rolling stone trap waiting to be triggered.

This trap cannot be maintained for a long time. Every half day, someone needs to tighten the trigger mechanism to ensure its sensitivity.

This means that there were humans here not long ago.

Or rather, living beings.

But at this moment, it was quiet. The entire dilapidated village was silent, like a ghost village in the mountains.

"Light, such a bright light..."

Suddenly, the crow heard a groan from a frantic, old woman.

Are you a resident here?

She followed the sound, approached the wooden house from which it came, and stood by the window to ask.

Chapter 814 Strange Whistling

"Whistle, I don't want to hear the whistle, my head is so itchy..."

The people in the room seemed not to hear her voice, continuing to murmur to themselves, which sounded like an old woman's voice.

"Can you hear me?" The crow circled the wooden house, only to find that all the entrances and exits of the house had been nailed shut with messy planks.

"Oh, the whistle, it's blowing again! I don't want to hear it, I don't want to hear it, I don't want to go to the light, I won't go!"

The old woman continued to murmur, her indistinct and decaying voice adding to the eeriness of this deserted village.

The crow had already gripped her weapon, after all, apart from the other's murmur, she hadn't heard any other sounds.

Not to mention the so-called whistle sound.

In this absurd world, it's not surprising that something even more absurd can happen.

This strange occurrence was no threat to the seasoned crows.

The nailed-down door was indeed very sturdy, but the equally wooden wall next to it became its biggest weakness.

The crow watched as the slender body unleashed extraordinary power, creating several cracks in the wall with a single kick.

The wall quickly exploded and shattered.

The room was very dark, with no lights on and no incense scents that were common in Yanan.

There is only the fishy, ​​foul smell of reptile fluids here, and a dampness that is noticeably different from the outside world.

Using the light shining through the large hole, the crow saw the owner of the house.

An elderly woman, her back to her, slumped to the ground, seemingly oblivious to the crow's 'breaking down the door,' trembling slightly as she murmured.

As the distance between the two sides closed, the crow smelled blood again.

The smell of fresh blood.

The smell originated from the old woman's ears.

The old woman had two spoons shoved into her ear canals, almost to the very bottom. The crow estimated that the spoon handles had not only punctured her eardrums, but had probably also pierced her brain.

"I don't want to hear it, I ......"

Crows move almost silently, but the old woman who had poked her own ears suddenly stopped babbling as if she had a sixth sense.

The next moment, she turned around abruptly, revealing a distorted and wrinkled human face.

The face twisted more and more fiercely, finally turning 180 degrees and looking behind without moving its body.

"Whistle, so it was Him whistling, how wonderful..."

The old woman uttered dazed words, and the next moment, she stiffly turned her body, revealing an unusually long, snake-like neck.

Do you know where everyone else in the village has gone?

Despite having no hope, the crow still asked tentatively.

Her response was a cold, hoarse, shrill scream from the other party.

"Witness Him!"

The old woman lunged forward, but her head reached the crow first.

This bizarre scene was enough to terrify a normal person, but it was so horrifying that even a crow couldn't blink.

Throughout her hunting career, she has hunted countless monsters that are far more bizarre, disgusting, and unsettling than this.

The blade of mercy pierced the opponent's face like a fluttering butterfly, and was then split in two by a crow with a soft click of a mechanism.

Transformation Slash!

Hunter Workshop's superior craftsmanship ensured a smooth transformation, tearing the opponent's smooth face into several pieces.

The crow, who had struck successfully, frowned deeply.

The feel of this slash was off.

The other person's ugly face was less torn apart by the blade and more scattered on its own.

So the hunters retreated instead of advancing.

Sure enough, the old woman's entire face seemed to come alive, with all her flesh, bones, and skin writhing wildly, eventually coalescing into a dense mass of snake heads that emerged from her chest.

The old woman had gone completely insane.

She pounced on him almost frantically, while the snake head that replaced his head writhed wildly, trying to envelop the hunter's head.

What awaited her were two flaming blades.

The crow did not hesitate for a moment.

The blade of the Blade of Compassion rubbed against a specially made piece of fire paper, and the knowledge from the superior beings instantly imbued the blade with the power of flames.

Chop, cut, bleed, dissect.

Even a monster that has mutated into an indescribable form is no match for a seasoned veteran hunter.

It was quickly cut into rag dolls, and what flowed out of the wounds was not fresh blood, but some kind of pale yellow, foul-smelling liquid.

The stench in the air grew stronger, and at the same time, a shrill whistle, seemingly from nowhere, echoed in the crow's ears.

The whistle was extremely strange. Although the tone was sharp, the sound was like a venomous snake hissing, with the sound fluctuating and constantly changing. The dramatic changes in tone were completely unlike anything a human could produce.