Starting from scratch, Batman crushed my dream of getting rich

Chapter 250 Namos

The old town is a very interesting place; it's like a maze. You could easily spend hours wandering around, and all sorts of people have things to sell.

Lester had been here for a while and knew that this place was like a low-budget version of Night City, where anything could happen, no matter how absurd. But he never expected to run into that boy here.

"Safi! If you don't work, you won't eat!"

At the entrance of a sweatshop, a man in a long robe threw a boy out the door, then turned and went back inside without looking back.

Lester stepped forward and found that it was a black boy, thin and emaciated, mentally unstable, and mute. He had no tongue and could only make incoherent sounds.

He helped the convulsing boy to his feet and discovered that his upper body was covered in strange, intricate patterns and runes, densely packed, from his forehead to his arms and abdomen. The patterns were both grotesque and dazzling, primitive and profound. Like Constantine, Lester was also a self-taught practitioner of the occult, and he felt a strange sensation the moment he saw the boy.

“He wasn’t Arab, maybe Sudanese, I guessed—anyway, he was a slave.”

Leicester took a cigarette from Constantine, lit it, and took a deep drag. "I looked into his eyes, and I sensed something unusual, just like in Newcastle."

Upon hearing the words "Newcastle," Constantine's expression darkened, but Leicester didn't notice, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as he continued to recall the events of that day.

“There was something inside him, something I couldn’t resist, so I took him home.”

In the dimly lit room, Lestra drew the curtains, turned off the lights, and blocked out all light. At that moment, his desire was completely uncontrollable—he was caught in a dark frenzy that he could not resist.

He moved the boy to the bed, lit a candle, and then brought a long-necked bottle.

In the darkness, a rainbow-colored light flashed across the glass of the long-necked bottle—it was a magic bottle.

Then, Lester began chanting hymns and performing an exorcism ritual.

As the song began, a terrifying, dense buzzing sound emanated from the boy's body, causing him to tremble violently. He tried to struggle, but was firmly bound to the bed and unable to escape; he wanted to scream, but without a tongue, only painful, groaning sounds could be heard from his throat.

In the dimly lit room, bubbles rose imperceptibly to the boy's dark skin, hundreds and thousands of them, while at the same time, the buzzing in Lester's ears grew more and more intense.

But he seemed possessed, his chanting of hymns never ceasing. At that moment, the sounds of the street outside the window, the boy's shouts, the sharp screeching of the bed legs against the floor, and even his own voice seemed to slip away like a dreamlike murmur. Only the dense, terrifying buzzing sound reverberated throughout the room, like a loud bell, making his brain boil and churn, completely robbing him of his ability to think.

Finally, the blister burst.

Countless mosquitoes and flies emerged from the boy's flesh, like adult insects breaking free of their cocoons, gathering and coalescing in the air to form a colossal creature that almost filled the room—huge insect compound eyes, fine limbs, greedily opening and closing mouthparts, and a pair of enormous, invisible insect wings buzzing and flapping.

At this moment, the buzzing sound finally became completely clear and loud.

Lester felt as if a million wings were flapping against him. He could feel the power of this evil spirit, he could feel it—it wanted to break free from its bonds.

But Lester will not let him break free.

He chanted the hymn even louder, his spirits soaring to the peak, even more so than when he was on drugs, as he struggled and tugged at the evil spirit.

Then, after an unknown amount of time—perhaps only seconds, minutes, or hours—his remaining sanity was no longer sufficient to make him notice the passage of time. In any case, after some time, Lester finally collapsed, exhausted. And the evil spirit in the room vanished—Lester, having exhausted his energy, had finally used magic to trap it inside the bottle.

“I am far stronger than Him. I trapped Him with magic. I completely overwhelmed Him.” Lester let out a long breath, closing his eyes as if still savoring the feeling.

“And what about the child?” Constantine suddenly asked.

Ma Zhaodi stared at Leicester, asking the same question he wanted to ask.

"The child? The child is dead."

Lester replied casually, "It's like it's been skinned alive, all pockmarked and bloody."

Ma Zhaodi clenched his fists, and at that moment, anger began to surge in his chest.

"In short, it was like smoke, churning inside the magic flask, and even through the glass, I could feel it. It was hungry."

"He wants me."

As he said this, Lester narrowed his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. He raised his hands as if holding an invisible glass bottle, his intoxicated expression eerily unsettling, sending chills down the spines of the three people beside him.

“How interesting,” he murmured to himself dreamily. “He wants me, and I want Him—I want to feel it inside me, scratching at my veins.”

“But I held back. This was the first time I had this power, the first time I had actually trapped a demon in a bottle. John, I did it. Unlike the failure in Newcastle, this time, I succeeded.”

However, Constantine did not answer anything, but listened quietly to Lester's account.

After completing the seal, the feeling of excitement lasted until late at night, but after the initial burst of energy subsided, Lester's spirit plummeted from the clouds to the abyss, as if he were about to be smashed to pieces at any moment.

Fear and panic raged through his body, growing wildly and turning his insides into a mess. He collapsed to the ground, curled up, and clutched his stomach, which was now cramping with pain from the panic.

Tick, tick.
At that moment, the sound of water coming from the darkness seemed particularly loud. Lester turned his head and, by the dim candlelight, saw a bloody, mangled hand lying outside the bed. Blood dripped from the stiff fingertips, hitting the shimmering magic bottle.

The buzzing sound returned to his mind; it was the demon speaking to Lester, like a million mournful voices simultaneously proclaiming their names.

Namo

He wanted to shut the demon up, but it kept talking and talking all night long.

He pleaded with Leicester, he threatened Leicester, he sang in Leicester's ear all night, and he lay on the ground listening all night.

As dawn broke, the voice continued to murmur—it was tempting Lester, it knew Lester wanted to put itself inside him, so it nurtured that desire in Lester's mind with its voice.

Leicester City is indeed on the verge of collapse.

(End of this chapter)