The Pseudo-Human Academy: Starting with a Bricklayer Personality

If the Bloody Gentleman is an abnormal entity, is he appearing beside me as a projection, or is he himself?

Our seemingly cold but actually cloying Fairy Ye completed the task of recording the abnormal entity without even realizing it.

Even she found it hard to believe that she could now exit the game at any time.

"Are you alright, ma'am?"

Police officers burst through the door, guns at the ready, shouting.

Fairy Ye quickly climbed out of the hole and replied:

"I'm fine."

The ground around Red Rose was littered with the corpses of thugs.

Parker stared blankly at the large, human-shaped hole in the wooden wall. Judging from its shape, it must have been made by that beautiful woman.

He looked at the pile of corpses around him, while Red Rose calmly drank her tea.

Judging from the bullet marks from the exchange of fire, it appears that the rioters were fighting amongst themselves.

But when he saw the utterly terrified expressions on the faces of the dead thugs, it was clear that something had happened that terrified them.

What exactly happened to make these rioters so terrified?

Look at the thugs' twisted limbs, as if they had been pulled by some kind of thread.

Seeing this, even a fool like Parker should understand.

Could these thugs be being controlled by that little girl in the room who looks like a pretty doll?

So, does that mean this doll-like little girl is also an abnormal entity?

Parker glanced again at the human-shaped hole in the wall and at the red rose calmly drinking tea, as if nothing had happened to her.

A chilling thought crept into his mind: Could this whole family be abnormal entities of the BOSS?

Could I have stumbled into the boss's den?

After all, in his view, only a BOSS-level abnormal entity would have such absurd and bizarre methods to directly control a person's limbs.

…………

A bizarre town—a dilapidated Catholic cathedral.

The head of the Jesus statue is missing, the cross leans precariously on the altar, and even the candles flicker in the wind as if they might go out at any moment.

An elderly pope was bowing toward the altar, his withered fingers gently stroking a manuscript covered with densely written characters.

That was the list of missing persons in the bizarre town that he had kept for half his life. Behind each name was a life crushed by the Red Shoes Ball.

He had just learned from Windsor, his informant at the Red Shoes Ball, that the Cleaners of Grotesque Town had appeared ahead of schedule.

Moreover, this time the cleaners are exceptionally powerful, sweeping away all the hidden anomalies in the town with overwhelming force.

The crab demons who fed on humans were all wiped out, the merfolk who occupied the streets and wantonly plundered and raped young men and women were turned into a mound of corpses, and Jack the Ripper's house was burned to ashes.

The appearance of the Cleaners has caused the abnormal entities throughout the town to live in constant fear.

The demonic forces, led by the Red Shoes Ball, are secretly gathering strength.

Launch a devastating campaign against the Cleaners, aiming to completely tear the Cleaners, codenamed Bloody Lady, to shreds and embed them in concrete walls.

Pope Francis slowly turned around and looked at the few remaining elderly priests behind him.

Their backs were already hunched, their eyes were dim, and they needed to hold onto a bench to stand, yet they still wore faded priestly robes and remained steadfast in this church that had long been forgotten by the world.

"Gentlemen," Francis's voice was hoarse, like sandpaper rubbing together, carrying the vicissitudes and weight of time, "tell me, what exactly is that Cleaner that appears once a year?"

A priest remained silent for a long time, his voice as soft as a wisp of a soul about to dissipate:

"He is the cry of despair from all the townspeople, the self-evident reckoning that arises after the imbalance of good and evil."

The other priest shook his head, his eyes filled with pity and compassion, his fingertips tracing the rusty cross on his chest, his voice filled with grief and indignation:

"No, He is not the one who settles scores. He is the lingering resentment of the innocent children who died at the Red Shoes Ball, the lingering grievances of those who perished in the grotesque town."

"Transform into a cleaner and crawl back from hell to avenge the blood debts owed to those demons who devoured lives."

Before he could finish speaking, he recalled that rainy night twenty years ago.

His young apprentice, a boy of only sixteen, secretly followed a believer who was out shopping and left the town, but was kidnapped by the henchmen of the Red Shoes Ball.

Three days later, the boy's remains were dumped at the church entrance, his limbs twisted and deformed by eerie threads, his face contorted with extreme terror.

That was a warning from the Red Shoes Ball to them, a warning

They shouldn't get involved in their affairs.

An elderly priest tremblingly raised his hand, making the sign of the cross, his eyes filled with piety, yet also concealing a lifetime of suppressed resentment:

"He may be neither a purgator nor a vengeful spirit; He must be an angel, an angel sent by God. The strange town has been occupied by demons for too long, and He has come to carry out divine punishment and sweep away all heresies and evil spirits."

Fang Ji looked at him, his withered hands slowly clenching.

He longed to believe in angels, but the atrocities of the Red Shoes Ball over the years had worn away his faith.

The Red Shoes Ball was never some mysterious party.

It was a purgatory that fed on humans, the darkest cancer in the bizarre town.

Over the years, the monsters of the Red Shoes Ball have never stopped harming ordinary people.

They selected prey in the town under the guise of "banquet guests".

They may be lively children, hardworking craftsmen, or hopeful travelers.

Those who were kidnapped never returned home.

Some were treated as playthings, tortured to death during the revelry of the ball, while others were used as food.

They were devoured by the monsters, and some were left with nothing but twisted limbs scattered all over the ground.

Francis still remembers that one morning ten years ago, the stone pavement in front of the church was covered with fresh bloodstains.

It was a little girl who had just turned five, wearing red ballet shoes, which were reserved for ballroom dancing, and she was abandoned there.

Her body was already cold, her small frame covered in wounds, and she still had half a torn piece of her dance dress in her mouth, a testament to her last struggle.

He also remembered countless nights when ordinary people being chased by the Red Shoes Ball would hide in churches, crying and begging for their help.

But he was just an old pope with no power to even kill a chicken; he couldn't even protect himself.

They could only watch as they were torn apart by the monster's claws, hear their desperate cries, and leave indelible bloodstains on the church walls.

Those monsters, dressed in gorgeous gowns, danced elegantly, yet their feet were surrounded by mountains of corpses.

They take pleasure in human suffering and feast on the passing of life, turning the entire bizarre town into their hunting ground.

The Red Shoes Ball was his greatest hatred in life. It was the root of his endless despair as he guarded this dilapidated church.

Three voices echoed in the empty, dilapidated church, eventually fading into silence.

Pope Francis closed his eyes, his withered chest rising and falling slowly.

He spent his entire life protecting Gravity Dwelling, watching it be swallowed up by eeriness and darkness.

Watching believers leave and die one by one, watching God's glory fade away inch by inch in this place.

He was already very old and nearing the end of his life, but at this moment, the flame of faith in his heart was about to be extinguished.

However, the appearance of the Bloody Lady and the deep-seated hatred for the Red Shoes Ball suddenly reignited their passion.

Whether the Bloody Lady is a purgatory, a vengeful spirit, or an angel sent by God.

He is slaying evil; He is fighting against the Red Shoes Ball, which is inhabited by countless demons.

This is enough.

Fang Ji slowly opened his eyes, and in his dim eyes ignited the brightest and most resolute light of his life.

In that light, there was piety toward God, but also an overwhelming hatred for the Red Shoes Ball.

"Prepare the equipment." He gave the order softly, his voice low but carrying an undeniable firmness.

The old priests were taken aback, but then they understood the Pope's intention.

Without hesitation or retreat, they supported each other and retrieved the papal robes and rusty crusader armor from a wooden chest deep inside the church.

The heavy, magnificent papal robes draped over Francis's aged body, the gold thread long faded, the hem trailing on the dusty ground, yet still solemn and dignified.

Several elderly priests awkwardly donned their heavy armor, the metal plates clanging dully—their final armor in their twilight years.

Their movements were slow and trembling, and they even seemed to struggle to grip the hilt of their swords, yet there was not a trace of fear in their eyes.

There is only hatred for the Red Shoes Ball and support for the Bloody Lady.

There were no bugle calls, no reinforcements, and no young soldiers.

Only one aging pope, holding a papal scepter radiating a holy aura, dispelled all the strangeness around him.

Several elderly priests, nearing the end of their lives, and a group of old men about to enter their graves.

Holding crosses and rusted swords, they walked out of the dilapidated cathedral step by step, trembling and unsteady.

A crimson glow painted the sky, already spreading across the heavens, signaling the imminent arrival of a fierce siege against the Bloodthirsty Lady.

But Pope Francis looked up at the sky, the cross in his palm pressed tightly against his chest, his eyes showing no fear, only a resolute determination.

He was old and powerless to change the situation, nor could he single-handedly reverse the fate of the bizarre town.

But he's going.

In the name of the Pope, with faith as the blade, and with their broken bodies as fuel.

Use all the strength, the last and all the power, that I can muster in this lifetime.

In this decadent and bizarre town, he burned away the last vestige of divinity, the last bit of faith, and his old life, which had long been dedicated to God, to the very end.

Not for redemption, not for glory.

All for the sake of standing on the side of justice, to shield the bloodthirsty lady.

Launch the Church's final assault against those rampaging demons and the Red Shoes Ball that has harmed countless ordinary people.

The wind whipped up his faded papal robes, and several elderly priests followed closely behind, their aged footsteps shattering the town's deathly silence.

Every step he took was rooted in hatred for the Red Shoes Ball.

Every step we take is in the spirit of protecting the innocent.

The relics are old, but faith is immortal.

This is their final holy war!