Brass bullets and spiritual tarot cards were entangled with each other and shot towards Meursault who was running towards him.
Faced with this situation, he did not panic. His deep-set eyes swept away indifferently, and the cruel smile at the corner of his mouth became more and more obvious. His left hand acted spiritually, and with a turn of his wrist, the dagger with a faint blue light was directly loaded with the bullet in mid-air.
, accompanied by the sound of steel clashing, broken blades and bullets with changed trajectories created sparks in the air.
Meursault, who had neutralized Klein's attack, stomped on the ground and kicked out his legs alternately, completely giving Klein no chance to organize another attack.
Storm-like punches fell crazily on Klein's arms folded in front of his chest and forehead, forcing him to retreat step by step.
I can't do this anymore. With just my strength, I will be beaten to death here sooner or later... Klein's arms are swollen and painful, and the tightness in his chest is difficult to exhale, and his breath is gradually becoming messy.
Suddenly, his eyes that were constantly darting around were focused, and a flash of light flashed through his mind. He suddenly let go of his crossed arms, and took a hard punch from the opponent.
boom!
Looking at the fierce punch, Klein did not completely lower his arm after all. He managed to hold it up, and was sent flying out. The few chairs in the room were knocked over with a clang, and the unstable wooden bed was hit with a harsh sound.
Squeaking, the dust on the roof trembled and fell.
This is not of the same magnitude at all. I was almost killed by this punch. I almost didn’t have to calculate... Meursault, the "hunter", just punched with all his strength. Klein’s eyes were bloodshot and his vision was blurred.
, the entire field of vision was covered with a faint dark red.
In his mind, spiritual warnings were blaring wildly. Meursault's eyes were filled with fierceness. He took a big step and slipped with a muffled sound of breathing. His hard knees suddenly pushed out, intending to directly crush Ke from bottom to top.
Ryan's chin!
Klein watched this scene calmly, already holding three special tarot cards tightly in his hands that were hanging weakly.
He just deliberately resisted the opponent's attack just because he wanted to use the powerful momentum to distance himself and pull out his unobtrusive but lethal weapon.
Although Klein's limbs were sore and he was almost exhausted, he was lying on the edge of the bed, but his left hand was still holding on to the wooden handle of the revolver, and the tarot cards in his right hand were ready to go.
Seeing Meursault's fierce attack, his knees almost touching his face, Klein's wrist suddenly shook.
Guided by the hazy images that emerged in his mind, he made a decision in an instant.
Sure enough, in reality, Meursault, whose face was filled with pain and ferocity, suddenly collapsed, and bursts of terrifying sounds came from his throat, and he fell backwards silently.
Meursault panicked and covered the wound in his neck where a tarot card was inserted. He waved it randomly and pushed away the sharp instrument that pierced the trachea. Thick blood flowed from the gaps in his palm one by one.
Spurting out, he could only look at his futility helplessly, feeling the passage of life, and the consciousness in his mind gradually emptied.
Am I going to die?
No, it took a lot of effort for me to be called an extraordinary person. Compared with those nobles who only talk nonsense while holding champagne, I am a superior person... Meursault's deep-set eyes condensed again, and his eyes widened with anger.
He stared wide-open at Klein, who was standing in front of him, like a ghost about to take revenge.
boom!
The gunshot of a characteristic large-caliber revolver once again cut through the silence of the night. Accompanied by several ladies' screams, Meursault, the "executioner" of the Zigman Party, died on the dirty floor of a small hotel in the East End.
, die with eyes closed.
Klein's left hand was unable to be raised. After forcibly firing a shot, Klein's palms trembled, and the heavy revolver fell heavily to the ground, declaring the end of tonight's battle.
Klein took a long breath and collapsed in the small room. His limbs were sore, and every joint was protesting with pain, and he could hardly move.
In a daze, he saw Meursault's body lying flat on the floor opposite his own feet, and little bits of crimson light gradually emitted, lingering on the chest of the body.
It seemed that the constant gunshots and fighting sounds had frightened the surrounding guests. In addition, the hotel owner had been bribed by the Zigman Party, so no one came to check for a while.
Fortunately, the public security in the East District is not good, otherwise I would have been arrested by the police, and then accused of murder, and thrown directly into jail. Then I would really have no chance of revenge, and I would have to rely on "secret" methods.
Dear one, help me get out of trouble...
"But where is Ian?" Klein, whose body was limp and his eyes were bloodshot, turned towards the door with difficulty and found no trace except for the body of the sojourner next door. "That's right. His life experience has probably driven him.
Take the initiative to stay away from here..."
As he spoke, Klein's eyelids kept falling, his consciousness became blurred, and the fatigue after a high-intensity battle seemed to drag him into the abyss of coma at any time.
"Mr. Moriarty! Mr. Moriarty!" Suddenly, a still immature voice revived Klein's spirit. He raised his head hazily, and in his unclear field of vision, he only saw a tired look on his face.
Ian, who looked panicked, was shaking his body gently, opening and closing his mouth.
He turned his head blankly, feeling the power of retrospection in his body. His spiritual vision turned on silently. After confirming that there were no more attackers who might be ambushing around him, he slowly breathed a sigh of relief and said weakly:
"Did I just fall asleep?"
"No, I saw you whispering something when I came here, but I didn't hear it clearly." Ian saw his new employer regaining consciousness, and immediately helped Klein sit up, then looked around, and quickly left again
, dragged in the man in a worker's uniform who was blocking the door and lying in a pool of sticky blood, and carefully closed the wooden door that was almost broken and had a broken latch.
After doing all this, he hurriedly returned and helped Klein, who had recovered most of his strength, stand up.
"Ian, first..." Klein, who was about to tell his assistant to handle the scene, was suddenly startled. His left hand subconsciously touched his face, and his fingertips touched a coldness that shouldn't be there.
.
When did I put on that human skin mask?
Suddenly, a sense of fear, symbolizing unknown danger, hit his back, and cold sweat instantly wet his back.
Ian was startled when he turned around when he heard his call. He saw Sherlock Moriarty's expression was extremely abnormal, his plain ice-blue eyes, and his pupils were trembling slightly.
"Mr. Moriarty?" Ian called tentatively.
But while he was carefully looking around, Klein seemed not to hear him. After two seconds, he nodded dully, like a puppet.
Klein, who didn't notice anything unusual, finally noticed Ian who was still standing in front of him with a confused look on his face. He coughed a few times and returned to his usual mature and kind face. The corners of his mouth were slightly raised, and his face lost color.
He said with a sad smile:
"It seems that I fell down and lost my mind just now. I'm a little confused."
As he spoke, he took the initiative to approach Meursault's body, which was lying on his back, with a mixture of unwillingness and resentment on his face. He squatted down slightly, picked up the "Hunter" characteristic that had completely separated out and was emitting a faint red light, and confirmed
After there is no contamination, carefully pinch it with your fingers.
He felt the burning sensation radiating from the surface of the feature and carefully put it into his side pocket.
"Mr. Moriarty, what is that?" Ian, who had discovered the "Hunter" attribute when he entered the door just now and mistakenly thought it was a gem, asked carefully.
Ian, who has been hanging out in the East District all year round, knows very well what he should and should not do. Although Ian failed to recognize the essence of the characteristics just now and only regarded it as some kind of special gem, he still did not have any evil thoughts and decided to
Wake up your employer immediately.
He knows very well that in the East District, some things require not only luck to obtain, but also the corresponding strength and destiny to get them!
Klein, who had simply processed the characteristics and probably blocked the spiritual escape, heard his question, considered it for a few seconds, and decided to tell the truth:
"These are the things that extraordinary people will leave behind after they die, but some of them can be directly used as potion materials to give people access to extraordinary abilities, while some will be combined with objects to form some "gems" that exude...
A powerful weapon for negative influence.”
"This kind of thing can look like anything. It may be a doll, a ball of hair, or a mirror, but they are all items that contain extraordinary power and can kill people at any time."
Considering that he may face similar dangers in the future, and at the same time, as his assistant, Ian cannot be blocked from the world of extraordinary people forever, the best way to deal with it now is to teach him some common sense and avoid dangers.
.
Just when Klein was groping for Meursault's other belongings and preparing to continue explaining some common sense to Ian, a light crimson and thin gray-white mist occupied his eyes.
"The human skin mask is still in the bathroom. The one on your face is a projection I summoned from history in an emergency. The maintenance time is almost up..."
The ethereal and gentle voice of "Secret" echoed in his ears, reminding him not to reveal his secrets.
Klein's movements were imperceptibly sluggish for half a second, and then quickly returned to normal. He slowly supported his knees, stood up and said:
"Ian, look for anything valuable on them, and I'll go wash your face."
"No problem." Ian, who used to do this for a living, quickly accepted the task without thinking. He skillfully opened the coat on the corpse and searched for money and weapons that might be hidden everywhere.
Klein took a deep look and walked into the bathroom, which was not blocked by a wooden door. Sure enough, he saw the magical item he used to disguise himself under the incomplete greasy mirror.
He recalled the "secret" instructions just now, picked up the human skin mask, and put it directly on his head.
As expected, the cold touch stimulated Klein's skin. His face did not appear to be too bloated with two masks on it. Instead, at the moment when the real mask was attached to his face, a trace of emotion was drawn from history.
The projection had dissipated, and an illusory ripple like water waves appeared on Sherlock Moriarty's face in the greasy mirror.
In the rare silence, he looked at his reflection in the mirror and made a strange face, half smiling and half crying like a real clown.