Chapter 337 The Prank of the Goddess of Fate

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

It was originally just an ordinary day, the cold wind blew as usual, the snow fell as usual, and the cold temperature was as ruthless as usual.

However, the goddess of fate, they did not seem to like such a calm London, and did not like the London where people hid in front of the fireplace of the apartment and shivered.

So they had some kind of mischievous idea in their hearts, determined to stretch out their old/mature/young hands, gently pluck the strings of the fate loom, and make the fate of London ripple.

So that night, the vanguard of the Mad Blade Cult encountered the inhuman detective who hid an unknown secret in a daily stall training activity that should have been risk-free. The two inevitably fought each other, and the result was an unexplained explosion in the dilapidated South Bank Industrial Zone.

The unknown explosion that cost the life of Detective Douglas was incredibly powerful. Not only did it blast the half-monster vanguard of the Mad Blade Cult to pieces, it also set off a fire mixed with wailing and screaming in the narrow and crowded factory area. Hungry rats and insects wrapped in flames rushed towards the humans who were fleeing in panic. Sparks containing blood and flesh bloomed one after another, and the dim and silent factory area was as bright as a summer day.

The narrow and complex alleys in the South Bank factory area restricted the entry of the fire brigade.

Even though it was adjacent to the Thames River and even in such cold weather, the insatiable raging fire still spread to most of the factory area in a short time, burning down the industries of many taxpayers/tax evaders.

But if a rational person were to float above the frosty sky at this moment, overlooking the South Bank factory area that had been mostly submerged by the surging flames, he would find that in this large sea of ​​fire flowing with orange-yellow light, in addition to the late-night overtime workers who fled in fear, there were also several dark figures shuttling back and forth in the sea of ​​fire - these unidentified guys seemed to be putting out the fire, or should I say controlling the fire.

These voluntary firefighters whose faces were difficult to see clearly were whispering words that only steel could understand, making the flaming fire snakes twisting wildly in front of them seem to be transformed into cobras played by the Indian people's gourds, obediently following the guidance of the whispered words and changing the trajectory of burning - but only for some buildings.

Or they directly smashed the walls with their brute force, creating a line of defense to isolate the fire out of thin air, and hindering the spread of the raging flames - also only for some buildings.

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

But if the non-existent observer in the sky knows the information behind the owners of every industry in the South Bank factory area, it will find that this group of unidentified black shadows will only save those factories with remnants of aristocratic shares, but turn a blind eye to those industries with emerging small capital, and even add fuel to the fire in a practical sense.

The most intuitive result of such an operation is that there are several island-like empty spaces in this blazing sea of ​​fire - these are factories with remnants of old London aristocratic shares.

And the types of products produced by these factories in the South Bank factory area are actually highly overlapping.

Therefore, when other competing factories and plants were buried in the sea of ​​fire, the factories that survived by chance took over the huge demand market - the old-fashioned London aristocrats who participated in the shares will be grateful for this fire of unknown origin in the future, laughing and caressing the thighs of the girls beside them, and mocking and scolding those unlucky civilian merchants.

And adhering to the principle that whoever benefits is the most suspicious, when the emerging merchant forces learned that only the old-fashioned aristocratic industries were spared from the fire, they would naturally and inevitably suspect the origin of the arson to fall on the only beneficiaries of this fire - the group of revelry old-fashioned aristocrats.

But are these voluntary 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? ! ! !

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

………………

The mischief of the goddess of fate is far from over. They continue to pluck the strings of fate, causing the ripples of chaos in London to spread further.

Glover and Sons, a traditional family business company, suffered a hardship a few months ago. A disguised extreme terrorist sneaked into the office, using the company's name to cover up his secret actions and using the money taken from the company to supply his terrible cult organization.

Even though this person has been arrested, the subsequent complicated investigation work almost caused Glover and Sons to close down. Fortunately, a female detective who occasionally showed kindness introduced some new businesses to poor old Glover, which made this company that was about to close down revive again, and the shrewd old Glover seized this rare opportunity to further expand the company's business and bring 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 & 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, finally a young man couldn't suppress his inner 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 & 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 & 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. 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 among the blood and excrement of livestock like a discarded garbage.

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.