Chapter 273: The Hungry Spirit Arrives (End-of-Month Vote Request)

At dawn, the red sun rose, and a familiar scent drew me, making me spiral and wind my way up into the sky.

We hummed a low pre-meal hymn, and below, in the Sky Garden, something was responding invisibly.

The spices of the cooking ritual seemed to be special blood, smelling like birds, but I did not mind, for it made the main course more delicious.

I am never picky; my greed is like the city's greed, an endless, devouring hunger that eats everyone's flesh and blood, yet becomes my sustenance, making me strong, making me satisfied. I coexist and grow with them; our bond is so holy, so terrible, so perfect.

Dark clouds rose in the first ray of sunlight; we will bring to this insatiable world unmasked desire, bring true joy, and finally, bring peace and happiness.

I flew toward the Sky Garden, where the strongest fragrance so far called to me, inviting me to enjoy this delicacy.

So I came.

"No, don't do this, where are you taking me?"

At dawn, Lester, carried to the rooftop by two zombies, looked emaciated; Midnight had left him in the animal pen all day without a single drop of ice, leaving his mental state at its worst—listless, delirious, weak all over, covered in cold sweat, one-third human, seven-tenths ghost, utterly powerless to break free from the zombie laborers' restraint.

When he was pressed onto the stool in the Sky Garden, Midnight was already waiting there; he raised his watch to check the time—only ten minutes left, the sunrise was about to begin, the church seals should be torn off, and he hoped Constantine was ready.

"What exactly are you doing?"

"Exterminating the evil spirit, Lester," Midnight said. "Did you forget what I said yesterday? You are the bait."

"So soon? Can we wait a bit longer? I'm a little scared."

However, Midnight paid him no further attention.

"Ugh-aaah!"

A low muttering sound rose in the room as someone shook Constantine's shoulder vigorously.

But he did not wake.

Click—

Someone flipped the switch for the room's main light; blinding white brightness instantly filled the house, and Constantine, who wanted to keep sleeping, finally could not stay curled up.

"All crowded up... who the hell turned on the light... what time is it?"

Constantine, forcing his eyes open, looked bewildered; his gazeless eyes swept the room, then landed on the large zombie standing by the bed—honestly, that was scary.

"Damn it... can't you wake people up in a normal way?"

Though he complained like that, he still bounced up from the bed and quickly got dressed.

Splashing cold water on his face, Constantine grabbed his coat and walked into the elevator with zombie Joey—the whole perfunctory yet ritualistic process took only seven minutes, basically delaying nothing.

But this was mainly because he wasn't sleepy.

Ma Ma Zhaodi's flower tea was a bit too effective, Constantine thought; it even made pretending to sleep difficult—luckily, I'm an old thespian.

Following the zombie from the elevator to the rooftop, facing Midnight the Elder and Lester, he took a deep breath, hoping his acting today was good enough to keep the old hand Midnight from spotting his flaws.

After all, if the truth of today were revealed, he and Ma Ma Zhaodi would likely be targeted by this Wudu Sect witch, who lacked neither resources nor humanity.

"Good morning, Constantine." Midnight was still wearing that white suit and primitive grass skirt. "According to the building exit surveillance, your other friend seems to have left you yesterday."

"I made an excuse to send him away; that guy is too kind-hearted and would affect the plan—good morning, Midnight." Constantine lit a cigarette and greeted Midnight in the pitch-black sky. "For a Knight, the weather is truly nice today."

Midnight looked puzzledly at the still gloomy sky; although the sun was about to rise, at this moment, let alone the weather, even the clouds in the sky were indistinct. He asked, puzzled, "What Knight?"

"Haha, the Race Knight, you jerk."

"..."

Midnight, who was already Black, grew even darker in complexion; luckily, the sky was not white either, so others could not tell. He retorted, "Save your energy; save it for your friend later."

Constantine said nothing.

"Tattoo needles, ink, restraint suit, white powder, chair," Midnight ignored him and turned to check the props needed later. "Everything is ready."

"Where did this electric chair come from?"

"A private auction—something leaked from the state prison; over three hundred lives were roasted on it, crispy outside and tender inside."

"Damn, good stuff, highly approved."

"Hmm-hmm." Midnight was noncommittal. "This is powerful magic; the irony might amuse you."

"What, electrocuting prisoners in the state prison?" Constantine took a drag. "I'm not sure that punchline still fits the times—anyway, let me say a few words to Lester, then we'll start."

"Want to wear sunglasses? To avoid exposing your flaws."

"No need." Constantine waved his hand and walked over to where Lester stood in the distance. "Good morning, Gates—how are you?"

"I... I'm very not good, Constantine." Lester, held by two big black men, spoke weakly. "I feel I can't hold on."

"You said that before too—but you still held on until now, buddy. Don't worry; it's just a bit of tattooing."

"Can't we stop? I'm really a bit..."

"No, friend. Just think of it as a dentist visit; imagine I'm your mother."

Constantine patted Lester's shoulder comfortingly, watched as he was tied to the electric chair by the two burly men, then casually picked up a syringe. "See? Top-quality goods sent directly from Thailand; absolutely will make you fly. Be a brave good boy; after it's done, I'll treat you well."

"Can't you give it to me now?"

"Have to wait a bit, kid."

Listening to the two's conversation, Midnight wore a satisfied smile—Constantine's tongue was like the serpent in Eden, able to turn death into life; under his cover, the plan proceeded very smoothly.

So he picked up the knife and the white-feathered chicken and began the ritual.

Boom! Boom-boom!

Two zombie laborers stood on either side and began beating the hand drums at their waists; a primitive and wild rhythm rose on the rooftop.

"Cluck-cluck—"

The small knife sliced the rooster's neck; the upside-down white-feathered chicken began to gush blood, which was entirely caught by the golden bowl below.

Feathers stirred, spells murmured; when Midnight used the chicken blood to form a formation beside the electric chair, time ran out.

The Talisman on the church was lifted; the door instantly shattered. That Morse flew freely into the dark night sky, then was immediately drawn to the ritual, heading toward Midnight's building.

The Hungry Spirit has come.

(End of this chapter)