Chapter 337 The Prank of the Goddess of Destiny

Chapter 337 The Prank of the Goddess of Destiny

December 28, 1880, there were only two days left before the new year arrived.

This was originally just an ordinary day. The cold wind was blowing as always, the snow was falling as always, and the cold temperature was as ruthless as ever.

However, the goddesses of fate don't seem to like such a peaceful London, where people hide in front of apartment fireplaces and shiver.

So they had some kind of mischievous idea in their hearts, and they were determined to stretch out their old/mature/young hands and gently pluck the strings of the loom of fate, causing terrible ripples in London's web of fate.

So that night, during a daily practice session that was supposed to be risk-free, the vanguard of the Crazy Blade Order was followed by an inhuman police detective who was hiding an unknown secret. The two inevitably fought together, and the consequences It was in the dilapidated South Bank Industrial Zone that an unexplained explosion occurred.

The unidentified explosion that erupted at the cost of Detective Douglas's life was incredibly powerful - not only did the half-monster pioneer of the Crazy Blade Order explode his brains, but it also set ablaze in the cramped and crowded factory area. There was a fire mixed with wails and screams. The hungry rats and insects wrapped in flames rushed towards the panicked humans. Sparks containing blood and flesh bloomed one after another. The dark and silent factory area was as bright as summer. daytime.

The narrow and complex lanes in the South Bank factory area restricted the fire brigade’s access.

Even if it is adjacent to the bank of the Thames, even in such cold weather, the insatiable raging fire still spreads to most of the factory area in a short period of time, burning down the properties of many taxpayers/tax evaders.

However, if a rational person is suspended above the frosty sky at this moment, overlooking the South Bank factory area that has been mostly submerged by the raging flames, he will find that in this large sea of ​​​​orange light flowing, except for those late night overtime workers who are fleeing in fear. After the workers, there were suddenly several dark figures moving back and forth in the sea of ​​​​fire - these unidentified guys seemed to be putting out the fire, or should be said to be controlling the fire.

These volunteer firefighters whose faces are difficult to see clearly are whispering words that only steel can understand, making the flaming snakes twisting wildly in front of them seem to be transformed into cobras played by the Tianzhu people's Fenji gourds, obediently Cleverly following the guidance of whispered words to change the trajectory of burning - but only for part of the building.

Or they could directly smash the walls with their brute force, create a defense line to isolate the fire out of thin air, and hinder the spread of the raging flames - again, they only targeted some buildings.

But what is really incredible is that in the process of putting out the fire and moving it, they actually threw earthen jars containing black oil into the sea of ​​​​fire, helping the fire to further increase and spread - this also only targeted some buildings.

But if the non-existent viewer in the sky knew the information about who owned each property in the South Bank factory area, he would have discovered that this group of unidentified black figures could only save people. Those factories that own the remnants of aristocratic shares turn a blind eye to the emerging small-capital industries, and even add fuel to the fire in a practical sense.

The most intuitive result of such an operation is that in this burning sea of ​​​​fire, there are incredibly many island-like open spaces - these are factories with remaining shares of London's old-fashioned aristocrats.

In fact, the types of products produced by these factory buildings in the South Bank factory area are highly overlapping.

Therefore, when other competing factories were destroyed in the flames, the factories that survived by chance took over the huge demand market - the old-fashioned London aristocrats who participated in the shares will definitely be grateful for this fire of unknown origin in the future. Laughing and stroking the thigh of the girl next to him, he mocked and cursed those unlucky civilian businessmen.

Adhering to the principle that whoever profits is the most suspicious, when they learn that only the old aristocratic industry has survived the fire, the emerging business forces will naturally and inevitably place the target of suspicion on the origin of arson in this fire. The only beneficiaries are the group of old-fashioned aristocrats who carnival.

But are these volunteer firefighters the secret protectors of the aristocratic forces?

Or are they just some people who want to provoke conflicts between the emerging merchant capital and the old aristocratic capital and are afraid of chaos? ! ! !

The answer to this question may only be known by someone who is hiding in the dark and silently writing the words of resistance.

………………

The mischief of the goddesses of fate goes far beyond that. They continue to pluck the strings of fate, causing the ripples of chaos in London to further spread.

Glover \u0026 Sons, a traditional family-owned company, suffered a disaster a few months ago. A disguised extremist terrorist was infiltrated into the office, using the company's name to cover his secret actions. Money from the company funds his horrific cult.

Even if this person has been arrested, the subsequent complicated investigation work almost caused the closure of Glover and Sons. Fortunately, a certain occasionally kind female detective introduced some new businesses to poor old Glover, which made this company possible. The company that was about to close down suddenly recovered again, and the wily old Glover seized this rare opportunity, further expanding the company's business and raising the company's assets to a higher level.

Now they have changed their address, have a bigger and better office, and have recruited more and more employees - all of them are self-righteous young people with ambitions, who think that working in an office will be more relaxed and comfortable than working in a dock factory.

But Glover \u0026 Sons is a real capital company, and their employees are only worthy of working at high intensity like the gears inside a machine. The heavy work pressure makes those young people with dreams feel depressed, and the daily insults and mental control words of the office director make them feel disgusted and bored.

If it weren't for the fact that the company occasionally gives corresponding rewards according to the workload, and if it weren't for the fact that it's not easy to find a job that only requires sitting in an office now... I think the young employees would have resigned long ago because they couldn't stand the pressure.

But on the night of December 28, a young man finally couldn't suppress his resentment - the damn office director once again stole the results of his hard work overtime for several days, and attributed the honor to himself, and the most annoying thing is that he was even reluctant to give himself a little bonus! ! !

The young man recalled the taboo ritual he had analyzed from an ancient book some time ago. For some reason, he was obsessed with it. He was even late for a while the night before yesterday to steal the body of a homeless man exposed on the street. He was scolded by the office director again... Those extremely insulting words were like a sharp thorn that pierced his heart deeply.

"It's time to try that ritual..." The young man with a haggard face said to himself foolishly.

According to the fragments in the ancient book, he took the white spot mushrooms stolen from the church cemetery, the body of a homeless man frozen stiff as wood, the coughed blood carrying bacteria bought from the hospital, and a broken bone that was mailed by someone unknown. But when someone touched the broken bone fragment, he could clearly feel a sense of freezing deep into the bone marrow, as if touching the ice that had been frozen for many days.

Although the specific ritual array was not recorded on the fragment, the young man still held a white wax and dripped the inverted pentagram on the ground of the deserted house. It is said that the pentagram is the symbol of the mother palace of the underworld, and the inverted tip is the symbol of hell Satan. It must be quite reasonable to use it in the current ritual of awakening the dead.

The pale candle lit up a little light, illuminating the horrifying scene in the deserted house. In the waxy inverted pentagram array, there were stiff corpses, a pool of blood, broken bones and faintly glowing white fungi.

The young man stood at the tip of the pentagram with satisfaction, lowered his head and began to chant a spell that seemed to curse the corpse. The small sharp blade in his head also began to vibrate slightly, bursting out with a clanging sound like the shaking of metal sheets.

At the same time, a cold breeze seemed to blow in the closed and abandoned house. The wind fell on the young man's body as if a blunt cold blade was scraping his skin - but this was just his illusion, because the candlelight on the ground did not shake, and it was still struggling to illuminate the few feet in front of him.

But the young man really felt the biting cold gradually seeping into his bones. He couldn't help but shiver and sneeze. The sneeze was so strong that even the candle was blown out.

The whole hall was dimmed because of this. The darkness was like a tide that submerged the room and also submerged the young man who was involved in the invisible art for the first time... In the darkness where it was difficult to see one's hand, the corpse on the ground suddenly began to tremble slightly and climbed up. The rotten wooden floor began to scream in pain. The pale white cold mist spewed out from the mouth and nose of the revived corpse, but it was mixed with a disgusting and strong stench to the young man.

The resurrected tramp turned his head with a creaking sound and looked at the young man with a surprised and surprised expression...some cold words that only the ritual controller could understand echoed directly in his mind.

The young man became more and more overjoyed, and the surprise on his face completely turned into real ecstasy...I actually mastered such a powerful power! With such power in hand, everything we dream of is no longer far away! ! !

He raised an evil arc at the corner of his mouth and whispered the first order.

"Go to Glover \u0026 Sons and kill my office director!"

The loyal resurrected tramp followed the address given by the summoner, and walked through the buildings with a slow but flexible pace until he finally arrived at the target's residence. He nimbly climbed onto the roof and sneaked in through the window, suffocating the target to death before he could scream. Afterwards, he cleaned up the scene according to the instructions of the troublesome summoner, and poured strong liquor into the dead target, leaving only thin clothes lying on the sofa in the living room with the balcony doors and windows wide open, as if he had taken off his clothes randomly after being drunk and then froze to death on the spot.

The young man who couldn't suppress his curiosity also followed nearby. He looked at the resurrected tramp who climbed over the wall in the distance, and a satisfied smile appeared on his face.

And this murder was also seen by the beautiful eyes in the distance that were slightly arced up and seemed to be laughing.

"Is this the reason why John ordered me to infiltrate Glover \u0026 Sons?"

"This unknown company...seems to always attract young people who are willing to embark on the path of esotericism. Is this a coincidence or some kind of absurd law??"

………………

The pranks of the goddess of fate have not ended yet.

That night, several young people who thought they had great ambitions gathered together. They were all orphans without fathers and mothers. They had no care and no way out. If they wanted to find a way out in this cold city, they must... Just try your best to fight.

This group of young people have just joined a certain gang. It is a time when they urgently need to prove themselves with blood, and they also need to use some achievements to build their reputation!

They looked at the firearms on the table in silence. These weapons, which shone with silver and cold light, were cheap but extremely reliable killing tools that they obtained from the black market - a steady stream of violent cases in London during the past period. It is the best advertisement for these black market weapons.

The young man at the head picked up a short gun and turned the magazine. Amidst the ratcheting sound of the ratchet mechanism, he looked around, but all the companions he saw looked like they were struggling. He said again seriously:

"Hey guys, this is a rare plan for us. As long as we complete this vote, we can officially join the Burton Brothers Gang!"

"You don't know that the Burton Brothers are the biggest gang in the city, right?!"

"As long as we can join the Burton Brothers, all the wishes we made while huddled under the bridge around the bonfire will come true! What are you still hesitating about?!"

"Don't you want to live in a big, clean and warm house and eat delicious barbecue every meal?!"

"Do you still want to go back to the days of wandering on the streets and live a miserable life without a meal?!"

"Guys, this is our only chance!!!"

Under the leader's straightforward speech, the young people who were still hesitant at first stepped forward to pick up their firearms, then looked at each other and nodded resolutely, walking shoulder to shoulder to the brightly lit tavern on the other side of the street. Go.

Soon after, gunshots erupted continuously on the quiet streets, acrid smoke filled the air, and hot blood filled the shop windows.

And this is just another shootout caused by the proliferation of cheap firearms on the black market.

This won't be the first shootout, and it won't be the last...the fight seems to never stop.

………………

It was still this night. A young man who loved reading picked up an oil lamp, opened the books he had bought from an old bookstore, and read beautiful poems by the dim light.

Whenever he saw a poem with beautiful artistic conception, he could not help but shake his head and sing softly, as if in this way he could empathize with the author of the poem and feel the beautiful rhythm in the poem.

But as the pages of the book turned, he suddenly touched a page of unusually cold paper. The paper looked quite new, as if someone had inserted it into it later... but the text printed on the paper was also a passionate poem. .

The poem is called Snow, which seems to be translated from the far East. Even some of the allusions in it are taken from the history of the Far East, but the artistic conception is majestic, broad-minded and heroic, making people feel as if they can feel the author's heroic spirit when reading it.

Young people couldn't help but chant along.

"See what the northern countries show,"

"Hundreds of leagues ice-bound go,"

"Thousands of leagues fly snow."

“Behold………………”

The young man who was so engrossed in reciting poems did not realize that the coldness on the surface of the paper in his hand seemed to be gradually melting as he recited. The thin layer of protection attached to the surface to hide the taboo content underneath gradually faded away, revealing There are forbidden words recording a certain hidden history underneath.

The young man didn't realize it and seemed to be fascinated. He just continued to chant obsessively.

A trace of crazy and chaotic evil light flashed in the depths of his eyes, deformed bone spurs began to protrude from his face, and his flat teeth became sharp and slender, like tiny short blades.

It turned back to look at its sleeping roommate, its red bloodshot eyes flashing with a trace of madness and bloodlust.

………………

The funny-laughing goddess of fate took the trouble to pluck the string again.

Even the pioneers who traveled across Europe couldn't help but get ready to move. They came to the poor and backward East London again and looked up at the St. Mary's Church not far away.

Even in such a turbid night sky, the towering white spiers are wrapped in an unquestionable holy atmosphere.

Even the pioneers of the professor couldn't help but recall the similar white church in their hometown, which also stood in the dirt and putrid place. But it is precisely because it stands in a land full of blood and stench that the pure white holiness appears so noble and charming.

The pioneers stayed on the roadside for a long time, until they had recalled all the good things in the past, and then they left with satisfaction.

And deep in the alleyway where it had just stopped, a woman was lying on her back, lying on the ground like a piece of garbage discarded carelessly among the blood and feces of livestock.

The woman's simple skirt was lifted up, her open waist and abdomen had been disemboweled, her internal organs were torn out and exposed, but her face was peaceful and elegant, as if she was just sleeping, and her arms were slightly open as if to invite a hug, as if she was not far away. The sculpture of Saint Mary in the church is so holy.

It's just that this holiness is both bloody and cruel.