Chapter 254: Namus

The Old City is a fascinating place, like a maze; one can wander for hours without issue, and people of all kinds have their own wares to sell.

Lester has been here for quite some time; he knows this place is like a low-spec version of Night City, where anything absurd can happen, yet he never expected to encounter that boy here.

"Safi! No work, no food!"

At the entrance of a sweatshop, a man in a long robe threw the boy out the door, then turned and went back inside without looking back.

Lester stepped forward and found it was a Black boy, emaciated, delirious, and mute; he had no tongue and could only make babbling sounds from his mouth.

He helped the convulsing boy to his feet and discovered strange patterned Talismans engraved all over his upper body, densely packed from his forehead to his arms and down to his abdomen; the patterns were both ferocious and brilliant, primitive yet profound. Like Constantine, Lester was also an insider in the occult who was self-taught, and the moment he saw the boy, a strange feeling arose in his heart.

"He's not Arab, maybe Sudanese, I'd guess—anyway, he's a slave."

Lester took a cigarette from Constantine's hand, lit it, and took a deep drag: "I looked into his eyes and felt something unusual, just like that time in Newcastle."

Hearing the four words "Newcastle," Constantine's expression turned unpleasant, but Lester didn't notice; his eyes fixed on the ceiling as he continued to recall that day's events.

"There was something inside him, something... I couldn't resist, so I brought him home."

In the dim room, Lester drew the curtains, turned off the lights, and blocked all sources of light; at that very moment, a desire in his heart became utterly uncontrollable—he fell into a dark frenzy, completely unable to resist.

He moved the boy onto the bed, lit a candle, and then fetched a long-necked bottle.

In the darkness, a stream of seven-colored light flashed across the glass body of the long-necked bottle—it was a Magic Bottle.

Then, Lester began chanting hymns and performing an exorcism ritual.

As the singing rose, a terrifying and dense buzzing sound also emanated from the boy's body; his body trembled violently. He wanted to struggle, but he was tightly bound to the bed and could not escape; he wanted to scream, but having no tongue, only painful babbled growls could emerge from his throat.

In the dim room, the boy's black skin imperceptibly began to bubble, densely packed, hundreds and thousands of them, while at the same time, the buzzing sound in Lester's ears grew increasingly intense.

But he was as if possessed, the chanting of hymns never ceasing for a moment; at that very instant, the street sounds from outside the window, the boy's growls, the sharp screech of bed legs rubbing against the floor, even his own voice seemed to slide past his ears like dreamy sleep-talking, leaving only the dense, terrifying hum echoing through the room; like a loud bell, it made his brain boil and churn, completely robbing him of the ability to think.

Finally, the bubbles burst.

Dense swarms of mosquitoes and flies flew out from the boy's flesh and blood, like adult insects breaking from their cocoons; they gathered and coalesced in the air to form a colossal entity that nearly filled the room—massive insect compound eyes, fine limbs, greedy opening and closing mouthparts, and a pair of huge, invisible insect wings buzzing as they flapped.

At that very moment, the buzzing sound finally became completely clear and loud.

Lester felt a million wings beating against himself; he could feel the power of this evil spirit, he could feel—it wanted to break free from its bonds.

But Lester would not let it break free.

He chanted the hymns even louder; at that very moment, his spirit was at its peak of excitement, even more so than when he had taken drugs, as he struggled and wrestled with that evil spirit.

Then, who knows how long passed—perhaps only a few seconds, perhaps a few minutes, perhaps several hours; in any case, his remaining sanity was no longer enough for him to notice the passage of time—in short, after some time, Lester finally collapsed to the ground, utterly exhausted.

And the evil spirit in the room had vanished—Lester had exhausted his energy and finally used magic to trap it inside the bottle.

"I am far stronger than it; I trapped it with magic; I completely suppressed it." Lester let out a long breath, closed his eyes, as if still savoring the feeling of that moment.

"What about the child?" Constantine suddenly asked.

Ma Ma Zhaodi stared at Lester; this was also the question he wanted to ask.

"The child? The child is dead."

Lester replied casually: "Like skin had been peeled off, his whole body was pitted and scarred... flesh and blood everywhere."

Ma Ma Zhaodi clenched his fists; at that very moment, anger began to churn in his chest.

"In any case, that thing was like smoke, churning inside the Magic Bottle; even through the glass, I could feel... it was hungry."

"It wanted me."

As he spoke these words, Lester narrowed his eyes, the corners of his mouth curling up; he raised both hands as if holding an invisible glass bottle, his intoxicated expression so bizarre that it sent chills down the spines of the three people beside him.

"How interesting," he murmured in a sleep-talking manner: "It wants me, and I want it—I want to feel it inside me, scratching in my veins."

"But I held back. This was the first time I possessed such power, the first time I truly trapped a demon in a bottle. John, I did it; unlike that failure in Newcastle, this time, I succeeded."

Yet Constantine gave no answer, simply listening quietly to Lester's narration.

After completing the sealing, the feeling of excitement persisted until late into the night, but once the high wore off, Lester's spirit plummeted from the clouds into the abyss, as if the next second he would crash and shatter into pieces.

Fear and panic charged wildly through his body, growing savagely, turning his insides into a mush. He fell to the ground, curled his body up, and covered his stomach; at that moment, his stomach cramped painfully due to panic.

Drip, drip...

At that moment, the sound of dripping water in the darkness sounded especially loud; Lester turned his head and, by the dim candlelight, saw a flesh-and-blood-stained hand lying beyond the edge of the bed, blood dripping drop by drop from the already stiff fingertips, falling right onto the shimmering outer wall of the Magic Bottle.

The buzzing sound rang in his mind again; it was the demon speaking to Lester, like a million mournful voices simultaneously reciting its own name.

"Namus"

He wanted the demon to shut up, but it spoke and spoke, nonstop, speaking all night long.

It pleaded with Lester, it threatened Lester, it sang in Lester's ear all night long, while he lay collapsed on the ground, listening all night long.

When dawn broke, the voice was still whispering—it was tempting Lester; it knew Lester wanted to put it inside his body, so it used its voice to nurture that thought in Lester's mind.

And Lester truly could not hold on much longer.

(End of this chapter)