novellaaa Chapter 242 Psychic Communication
Chapter 242 Psychic Communication
Chapter 242 Psychic Communication
In the living room, where the gas wall lamps were lit, a man who looked somewhat drunk, who was putting on a black cloak, suddenly stopped, tilted his head, and stared unblinkingly at the window, his face full of doubt.
Several seconds passed, and he seemed to finally realize that the extra person in front of the window was not his imagination. The feeling of being drunk suddenly dissipated, and he became like a drawn blade, giving people a direct sense of danger.
He squinted at Sir Ryan and shouted sharply:
"Who are you!"
"How did I get in...?"
Boom!
The man, who had been so aggressive just moments before, suddenly slipped, lost his balance, and fell backward, his head hitting the wooden floor with a dull thud.
His eyes, which had been slightly narrowed, suddenly widened, and he stared blankly at the ceiling.
Then an abstract and distorted painting floated above his head, held atop an unseen hand. The distorted face in the painting, with its hands cradling the head and making a shrieking sound, magnified in his eyes.
"Hmm..."
The man who fell to the ground made a muffled nasal sound, followed by a large amount of blood gushing from his nasal cavity, and finally he passed out.
"Fraser, what have you been doing in there so long, all flustered? Haven't you changed your clothes yet?"
A hoarse, disgruntled voice suddenly came from outside the tightly closed door.
Cyril gestured with his eyes to Steve in the painting.
The latter bowed to him with a solemn expression, and then the figure in the painting suddenly faded.
At the same time, the abstract and distorted image of Steve was reflected in the eyes of the unconscious man named Frazier on the ground.
Frazier, who had already fainted, sat up stiffly from the floor, turned to look at the door behind him, and replied in the same hoarse voice:
"Okay, I'll be right out."
As he spoke, Frazier, who was being controlled by Steve, stood up from the ground, casually wiped the blood flowing from his nose with his black cloak, and then opened the door and walked out.
"What's wrong with you? Why are you bleeding so much from your nose?"
"I've been feeling a bit feverish lately."
"Getting a sore throat? I think it's from taking too much medicine at the Red Theater."
"Never mind, that's not important. Come with me, the ceremony is about to begin."
"The elders say that today's offerings are very special. We may receive true divine grace. At that time, not only will we be able to set fires, but we can also set them on fire at will."
The conversation outside the room gradually faded away. Xireen peeked out, then held the scroll and trailed behind the two figures in black cloaks, one in front of the other.
After walking for a while, the man in the black cloak who was walking in front suddenly stopped, turned around to look at Frazier behind him, and said with displeasure:
"Why are you so slow? Can you walk faster?"
Frazier, controlled by Steve, replied with a stiff face:
"I lost too many nutrients just now, and I feel a bit weak now."
"you"
For a moment, the black-cloaked man standing opposite Fraser lost control of his expression; he desperately wanted to ask who had turned this exceptional individual into a cult member.
Taking a deep breath, he suppressed his agitation and said in a deep voice:
"If you don't want to become a sacrifice instead of a worshipper because you're late, you'd better hurry up."
Frazier nodded blankly: "I'll try my best."
"You... never mind, I've already warned you. If you don't want to become a sacrifice, you'd better find a way to catch up quickly."
After saying that, the man in the black cloak stopped and turned to walk faster into the depths of the corridor.
After his companion had walked away, Fraser turned to look at the shadows beyond the candlelight behind him.
A dark curtain fell, revealing Cyril's figure, who threw the unfolded scroll in his hand over.
"Take your painting and follow him, join them, but don't participate in the ritual, or you'll be discovered by the 'weather god'."
The image of Steve reflected in Frazier's eyes flickered, then he spoke stiffly:
"Master, why don't you leave the painting with me? I'll feel safer that way."
"If I lose this body, I can return to the painting, but if the painting is gone, I will be gone too."
Cyril waved the rolled-up piece of drawing paper in his hand and said:
"I'm going to find its body, and its spirit."
"The offerings shouldn't be too far from the sacrificial site. As long as you make a commotion, I'll be there immediately." A hint of helplessness flashed across Frazier's stiff face: "Alright."
Cyril nodded slightly, then added:
"By the way, make sure you memorize their sacrificial rituals carefully. This kind of bloody sacrifice is also a folk custom that I need."
After saying that, he tossed out the drawing paper rolled into a stick shape in his hand, completing a method of finding a way by using a stick.
After confirming the direction, he reached out and pressed his hand against the wall next to him. Suddenly, a blurry, dark blue door appeared in front of him, without any sense of substance.
It is embedded in the wall, yet it reveals traces of the bricks and stones below.
Cyril took a step forward and passed through the dark blue door as if through a curtain of water, arriving at the room on the other side of the wall.
Snapped!
He snapped his fingers, illuminating the entire room with bright but not glaring light.
This appears to be a solitary confinement cell, quiet and empty, with a complete set of torture instruments stained with mottled blood on a wooden shelf against the wall.
Cyril activated his spiritual vision and scanned his surroundings.
There were no natural spirits or vengeful spirits in the room, but his true vision saw black resentment like a dense spider web entrenched in various parts of the room.
In addition, the ground, walls and ceiling were covered with mottled rust mixed with bloodstains.
They possess a faint spiritual response, vaguely sketching strange and distorted symbols that can slowly and continuously influence the minds of those who stay here for a long time.
Let them gradually swell, become arrogant, bloodthirsty, and cruel.
"This is somewhat like diluted pollution, the work of that 'weather god,' or something created by the followers themselves?"
"This looks like it has a lot of historical significance. ::"
After muttering a few words to himself, Cyril tossed the rolled-up drawing paper in his hand again, determined his direction, and once again passed through the wall.
After several attempts, he arrived at a room where candles were lit and there were people on duty outside the door.
In the center of the room stood a long, solid wooden table with no chairs on either side. A worn tablecloth with dark red stains covered the table, and on it were various glasswares containing collected dark red flesh and blood.
The disfigured flesh inside several of the glasswares did not appear to be completely dead; it was still wriggling slightly and occasionally bubbling up a bubble.
The moment his gaze fell upon the blood on the glass artifacts at the very front, the drawing paper rolled into a stick in his hand suddenly trembled slightly, emitting a faint red light.
The "painting" formed from the residual spirituality on the paper senses its own flesh and soul, and it yearns for its own completeness.
Cyril took two steps forward, unfolding the rolled-up drawing paper in his hand and covering one of the glass containers that looked empty.
The deep blue and crimson light gradually spread across the paper, weaving into a swirling, twisted vortex.
Then the originally incomplete portrait on the paper gradually became complete, vivid, and insane, filled with hatred and tyranny.
He tapped the drawing paper twice with his fingers to quiet the portrait on it, then took out the crystal ball made of glass and began to try to communicate with the spirits.
Although there were no materials or rituals, communicating with a spirit that had already been made into a portrait and still retained traces of contamination did not require such trouble.
During the moldy period, the crystal ball sparkled with clear and brilliant starlight, becoming dazzling and radiant.
The shimmering starlight inside the crystal ball was reflected in Sirion's eyes, outlining a complex and mysterious starry sky.
In a daze, he saw images, some blurry and some clear, from a first-person perspective, and heard layers of indistinct conversations.
It took him quite a while to finally sort out the extra information that had accumulated in his mind:
This unfortunate "secret seeker" is named Born Walker, from the Morse Penitentiary. He was assigned by a pillar of the Gangpus to explore the hidden secrets of Bansi Island.
While investigating the bloody rituals here, he accidentally discovered that the source of the bloody rituals was related to the local Storm Church, and then he was suddenly wanted and hunted down by the Punishers.
During his escape, he spotted Cyril, who had come to the island alone, and planned to use him as a tourist to board the White Agate and leave. This led to the scene where he suddenly rushed up earlier.
Unfortunately, he was unlucky enough to have his "Eye of the Secret" activated at that time, and he saw a truth in Sirion that he shouldn't have seen.
After struggling for a while, he lost control.