Chapter 272: The Beginning of the Hunt (End-of-Month Vote Request)

As Ma Ma Zhaodi heard Constantine's faint sobbing through the bug, the system panel popped out at the right moment.

【Ding】

【You have a new gig available; please check it.】

【Tears of the Wretch

Mission Briefing: Regarding Constantine, everyone's stance is basically unified—shameless, immoral, without bottom line, a black mage who triggered the crisis, a liar and street charlatan. In this world, Constantine is the synonym for these things. So when he kills a friend, everyone thinks: Of course he would do that, because he is Constantine; he is a scumbag without a heart. Over time, even Constantine himself started thinking this.

Note: But you are different; you know Constantine's story. He cannot be a truly good person, yet he is not evil enough; he knows he cannot go to heaven, yet he is unwilling to go to hell; the unscrupulous street charlatan is him, the savior is also him.

You heard the Demon Hunter Detective crying in the dead of night—but how could a heartless wretch shed tears?

Status: Pending (0%)

Reward: Special Skill "Smuggle"】

【Smuggle

Note: If someone asks how many universes exist in this world, different people will give different answers—your world would answer "unknown," the Original Small Superman would answer "infinite," the Supreme Small Superman would answer "52," Dr. Manhattan would answer "The New 52," and the answer from "The Hand" would be different and more interesting; what's more, for you, some universes are in drawings, some are on screens—and they do not know of each other.

Note 2: No matter what the answer to this question is, one thing is certain: traveling between them is by no means easy; the barriers between some universes are even beyond transgression—but then again, a qualified worker always gets the job done.】

Ma Ma Zhaodi looked at the effect of this skill; it could not only help him return to universes he had visited before, but also go to some he had never visited. However, to ensure he was not discovered by some supreme existences and for his own safety, he could not physically enter certain universes directly.

"Could it be I'm turning into an old man?" he thought, unable to help scratching his head, and walked out of the elevator.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Constantine."

Knock, knock, knock.

"Constantine."

Knock, knock, knock.

"Constantine."

Constantine's door was suddenly knocked on; although the volume was not loud, it was extremely regular and unceasing. And when the knocking sound started for the third round, an intolerant Constantine reached out and opened the door.

Then he saw Ma Ma Zhaodi outside the door.

"F***, do you know it's already three in the morning!"

"I know, but you can't sleep anyway." Ma Ma Zhaodi shrugged: "Or rather, I guess you won't be able to sleep again tonight, so why not discuss tomorrow's plan with me."

Constantine paused for a moment, then impatiently tried to close the door again: "Take Lester to find Midnight, go to the rooftop, lure Namoth over, have Midnight deal with it—problem solved, we go home."

Ma Ma Zhaodi reached out and held the door, looking into Constantine's eyes: "Is it really that simple?"

"It's that simple." Constantine said: "Hey, faggot, take your hand off; I don't want to sleep with a man."

Ma Ma Zhaodi's mouth twitched; Constantine actually had the nerve to say such a thing—he had even slept with non-human creatures, let alone men.

"First, I'm not a faggot." Ma Ma Zhaodi corrected: "Second, since it's already three now, we don't have much time left to discuss; we need to finish things quickly."

"Do you not understand English?" Constantine couldn't help cursing: "There's nothing we can do now; everything must wait until tomorrow."

"If we wait until tomorrow, your and Lester's fates cannot be changed."

When Ma Ma Zhaodi said this, he clearly saw Constantine's body stiffen for a moment.

"What nonsense are you babbling, you madman?" he muttered, trying to close the door again: "I can't understand a word."

"No." Ma Ma Zhaodi shook his head: "Compared to your plan, I have a better method—a perfect ending where no one gets hurt, the best solution that requires no sacrifice of souls."

Hearing this, Constantine's eyes flickered imperceptibly.

"That kind of thing doesn't exist," he said: "Ever since I came out of the womb, I haven't believed in such things."

But his hand dropped, no longer blocking the door tightly.

Ma Ma Zhaodi knew he was somewhat tempted, so he smiled and walked into the room.

"You haven't even heard my plan; how do you know it won't work?"

The next day, dawn.

Namoth had not had a very satisfying night.

Generally, the night is when it enjoys a gluttonous feast to the fullest, devouring and absorbing power; in a sense, it counts as its "happy hour."

New York, the economic, financial, commercial, trade, cultural, and media center of the United States and even the world; as one of the world's three major financial centers, the first city of the United States, perhaps even the wealthiest city on the globe.

Wall Street, Times Square, the Statue of Liberty, Central Park, and other famous landmarks are here; Columbia University, New York University, and 120 other higher education institutions, as well as 2,000 art and cultural institutions, are also here.

This city has almost everything one could desire, so naturally, it lacks no intense desires: power, wealth, ambition; whatever one wants, greedy crowds are constantly streaming in.

Although Namoth had not been here long, its growth speed here was quite terrifying; every night, it would fly into the colorful, neon-lit city above, beginning to hunt in the darkness.

There is always dark desire in the air, always hungry voices, and it only needs to follow the sound.

When it descends, it injects the seed of loss of control into the fire-filled belly, using its sensitive tongue to drink deeply the nectar brewed from desire.

It loves this scent the most, the scent of desire, the scent of flesh and blood—ever since its birth from the thirst for food and water on African soil, pure desire has become the best delicacy its instincts pursue, and New York happens to have many different flavors of desire.

Until last night, it managed to eat nothing, was struck by a sword, and was kept inside the church.

But fortunately, it felt no anger, only an instinct to pursue deliciousness—so the instant the church's main door was broken open, it completely ignored the other ordinary people on the streets or in the houses, flying straight to the rooftop of a skyscraper.

There was a familiar scent it had once sniffed out; at this moment, it had become even more seductive, as if cooked by some special ritual.

So, Namoth, which had gone hungry all night, decided to start hunting from there.

(End of Chapter)