harleyscars Page 281
Page 281
In the living room, sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow, and the air was filled with the scent of aged cigars and old wood. On the rug in front of the fireplace...
A leather sofa lay there quietly.
In the center of the room stood a stout man in a purple tuxedo, his back to Ian as he tuned a piano made of human bones.
"Ah! It's finally here!" The chubby man sprang up from the piano bench, opening his arms as if to embrace an old friend. "I'm composing a new piece and urgently need feedback from the audience!"
Ian stood in the doorway, his golden pupils slightly contracted. His gaze swept across the room—no ambush, no barrier, only an overly enthusiastic demon and a piano that looked like it was made of human bones.
“I’m here to see a friend,” Ian said, frowning as he got straight to the point.
Crowley made an exaggeratedly sad face.
“Yes, yes, I know, it’s all a misunderstanding.” He said very sincerely, “Actually, I have no interest in the power of the Witch Supreme.”
The piano suddenly emitted a jarring chord.
"He killed your son."
A hoarse voice came from beneath the piano keys, and the air seemed to freeze for a few seconds.
Crowley impatiently patted the piano lid.
"That's not my own son."
He turned to Ian, shrugged, and said, "Adopted, not purebred, always thinking about rebellion."
A bit too much information.
Ian was stunned.
So, who exactly are you?
He was also taken aback by the other party's enthusiastic attitude.
“Oh! How rude of me!” Crowley exaggeratedly slapped his forehead. “Call me Crowley, the current administrator of Hell, and also a hapless freelancer.”
He gave an exaggerated bow.
This is not the scene Ian wanted to see.
Ian's eyebrows furrowed, almost reaching his hairline, and he began to coax, "Shouldn't you demand a price from me? Like my soul or something?"
obviously.
The evil god still harbors ambitions to legitimately take over the manor.
Hearing Ian's words.
Crowley burst into laughter, his laughter laced with a devilish whisper. "My dear child, I always prefer to remain peaceful with those I cannot fathom."
He took a step closer, his eyes flickering slightly. "I just logged onto Earth. What happened before was all because my subordinates were ignorant. I'll kill them all later to entertain you."
He spoke casually, as if he were discussing tonight's dinner menu.
"The matter of the Supreme Witch is a complete misunderstanding. I'll have my men bring her to watch the show." With that, Crowley clapped his hands and ordered a demon to go and invite Miss Madison over.
He also used the word "please".
Faced with such a "polite" devil, Ian was somewhat at a loss. He had a strong urge to attack, but his upbringing kept him barely able to maintain basic manners.
"You came to Earth to cause chaos, right?" Ian asked tentatively, clearly trying to find a reason for himself and set a trap for the other party. "Like, do you want to rule the universe or something?"
In this regard.
The mysterious demon, however, was not fooled.
Crowley shook his head.
He pulled a silver flask from his suit pocket and took a sip. "Too cliché, darling."
He smacked his lips.
"I've come to see a good show, a good show about heaven."
"Crowley said in a low voice, a dangerous glint in his eyes.
Ian frowned.
"What do you mean?"
He asked in a low voice.
"Of course, it's because Heaven is going to die."
Crowley's lips curled into a mysterious smile.
He clapped his hands, and the floor of the reception room suddenly cracked open, revealing a huge, transparent cage that slowly rose up. The surface of the cage was covered with inverted biblical verses.
And inside the cage.
At this moment.
Then there was a... Black angel floating in the air.
“You can ask Him what He did.”
Crowley lit a cigar and lay down on the sofa.
"What did he do?"
Ian moved closer to the angel.
Discover the skin beneath this skinny black angel.
It looks like something is wriggling.
Chapter 138 Plague Angel! Heaven Falls!
The air felt sweet.
But it was so sweet that it reminded people of rotten holy bread.
It depicts the moment when the cage of the reversed Bible slowly rises from the ground.
The once brightly lit reception room suddenly became dim—the light scattered and fled like a flock of startled birds, as if none of the rays were willing to shine on the figure in the cage.
The entire space seemed to be slowly clenched by an invisible hand. Light was no longer a protector, but a traitor—it once symbolized holiness, but now it could only reflect the gradually decaying existence within the cage.
"Did this angel offend you, and then you corrupted him by some means?" Ian stopped probing when his fingertips were still three inches from the transparent cage.
The main reason is that the angels in the cage look like they've contracted some kind of dirty disease.
“It’s not what I did, it’s what he did… You’d better not watch for too long.” Crowley’s voice came from behind, mellow with the taste of whiskey.
“That stuff is contagious; neither angels nor demons are immune.” Crowley puffed out large wads of his cigar, the smoke swirling around him as if helping to shield him from the contamination.
This high demon had a great love for power and was extremely cautious. He had a deep understanding and obsession with magic and mysticism, so he clearly knew how to protect himself from corruption.
“It’s alright, I like having eyes on my body, it’s just that I can’t grow them myself.” Ian didn’t turn around. His gaze was drawn to the angelic form, a form that was extremely decayed and twisted.
I saw.
Within the cage, the angel hovered silently, his eyes closed, his body fixed in mid-air by an invisible force. His skin was as black as mud, and something could be vaguely seen slowly wriggling beneath it.
It was as if countless tiny living creatures were constantly moving within the flesh and blood.
The angel's wings have long since decayed and withered.
The feathers withered and fell off.
Unnatural lumps rose at the joints of the wings, one after another, covered with a green pus that should have smelled terrible, but was unsmelled because of the cage.
not only that.
A thin crack appeared below the angel's collarbone—not a wound, but more like some kind of new organ, opening and closing with each breath, oozing stardust-like fragments of light.
It resembles a mouth that inhales and exhales air.
"This is no longer just a fallen angel, it has become a plague angel." Even with Ian's aesthetic sense, he felt his scalp tingling and didn't even want to stay in the area too close to the black angel.
He took a few steps back.
A bronze chandelier hung from the ceiling, its dim, yellowish light illuminating the transparent cage that imprisoned the angel, casting a morbid glow over the entire space.
The most bizarre thing was the angel's forehead. Where sacred runes should have been inlaid, it was now covered by a thin film-like substance, beneath which countless tiny characters could be faintly seen flowing.
That is not the language of Enoch in the heavens.
It is not the writing system of any known civilization.
The distorted symbols change structure depending on the observer's line of sight. When Ian moved the angle slightly, he saw that they formed the shape of countless eyeballs that were constantly twisting.
this moment.
Ian felt he had figured it out.
He recalled the strange drawing Morpheus, the god of dreams, had made in his notebook when he rescued him, and the fact that he had never been able to find the "notebook" that Morpheus had mentioned.
of course.
There was also the shame of seeing his Miss Death, who had mentioned during her last appearance before him that "the protection of the supreme power would prevent them from detecting the intrusion."
One clue after another connects.
This also made Ian feel like he had found the answer.
“This angel has been corrupted by Cthulhu at an extraterrestrial level.” Ian didn’t know if Crowley knew about extraterrestrial matters, so he turned to look at the Demon King behind him.
Yes.
The name Crowley had already given Ian the information he wanted.
This guy, like his godfather, is a character from "Supernatural," and may also be from another universe, but one that has been accepted and integrated into the DC universe.
Crowley, the Demon King.
He was originally a tailor in Cannesby, Scotland in the 17th century. In order to make his little brother grow taller, bigger and fatter, he sold his soul to the devil. His mother was a witch, so she taught him a lot of magic.
This laid the foundation for him to become the Demon King.
In the American TV series *Supernatural*, Crowley did indeed serve as the King of Hell for a period, although this is largely exaggerated. However, within the Crossroads demon horde, he was certainly a powerful demon king. As the Crossroads demon king, he was obsessed with "contract games," enjoying using meticulously designed terms to harm humans and his fellow demons.
of course.
Unlike most demons, Crowley is not keen on killing or other evil deeds; like his kind, he only likes to make deals.