Mystery: Starting from the Shadow World

Chapter 33 The Tuxedo Clown

Damn it, what kind of person are you?

Seeing that the monster in front of him seemed completely unaffected, Philip frowned, felt a headache coming on, and subconsciously took a few steps back to allow himself some peace of mind to think.

At the same time, his hands did not stop moving. He took out several silver-white bullets engraved with intricate patterns and quickly loaded them into his revolver.

After loading four bullets, the humanoid monster in front of me temporarily stopped its mutation. Its original height of about 1.7 meters increased by more than 10 centimeters, its skin turned grayish-white, and the bullet holes on its body gradually disappeared.

Seeing this, Philip stopped what he was doing, raised his gun and pointed it at the other party, then fired without regard for anything else. Four silver streaks of light flashed through the air and disappeared into the body of the gray-white monster in front of him.

Groin, left chest, neck, hips.

At this moment, Philip was extremely grateful that Dunn had arranged ten so-called "demon-hunting bullets" for him. Otherwise, in this situation, no matter how unwilling he was, the best option would have been to run away with Elliott.

The piercing screams quickly echoed throughout the entire floor. For some reason, the monster's somewhat dark body became strangely bright, and Philip, who had already grabbed the door frame and was about to sprint away, was also stunned.

Are these bullets really that effective?

Before he could figure out what was going on, the grayish-white monster's body began to swell at an abnormal speed, as if something nauseating was about to burst out of it.

A strong sense of crisis surged into Philip's heart, and he retreated rapidly. Then, a loud "BOOM!" sound, along with the rotting, sticky flesh and blood, exploded in the room as a powerful shockwave.

He was thrown into the opposite house and landed right next to one of the kidnappers, who remained motionless, lying there like a dead pig.

"Huff, huff, huff"

Philip struggled to his feet, clutching his head, and through his blurred vision and the lingering roar in his ears, he managed to make out the scene in the room.

The lingering phantom pain throughout his body, along with the exhaustion in his body and mind, made him instinctively prepare to leave. But at that moment, he suddenly noticed the black notebook in the hand of the young man who had just turned into a monster, a memory from his past.

Philip bent low, bracing himself on his knees with his arms, and laboriously returned to the house, which showed no trace of its former self. The pungent smell of decay and the sticky, disgusting squelching sounds made him want to vomit.

He covered his mouth and, following the location from his memory, came to the edge of the old, worn-out notebook amidst the blood and flesh. He suppressed his nausea and took it into his hands.

Back on the second-floor stairwell, after confirming that Elliott was alright, he finally breathed a sigh of relief, straightened up, and looked down at his suit, which he could practically buy a new one.

That's a huge loss.

I can't wear expensive clothes next time.

Reaching the door, Philip shook his head and smiled weakly at Elliot, who wanted to follow him closely but had to retreat two meters away due to unavoidable circumstances. He then pulled Elliot to his side, maintaining the distance.

"Just bear with it, I can't bear to throw it away."

A white umbrella opened from the rain, sheltering two figures, one large and one small, in black. They were walking down the street, looking for patrolling police officers. Water droplets kept falling from above, bringing them only comfort and peace of mind.

Tap, tap, tap.

However, at that moment, amidst the clamor of the downpour, clearly visible footsteps echoed in his ears, causing Philip, who had just breathed a sigh of relief, to straighten up again.

Ignoring Elliot's resistance, he pulled her close with one arm, then looked around until his gaze finally fell on the street corner:

A man dressed as a clown, wearing a black tailcoat, a top silk hat, and with his face covered in red, yellow and white paint.

"The clown?" Philip frowned.

"Sir, you've completed your task. I think there are some things you don't need to get involved in." The clown in the tuxedo curled his lips into a slightly eerie smile, adding to the already gloomy, rainy weather.

"500 pounds, I want that notebook."

"Notes?" Philip glanced at the antique notebook in his right hand, smiled, and waved it in front of the other person, his tone slightly somber as he said:

"Sorry, that's impossible."

He didn't know exactly what this thing was, but the man who just died didn't exhibit any extraordinary characteristics, which meant that it was highly likely that he turned into a monster because of this notebook.

This kind of thing must not be allowed to fall into the wrong hands.

And to put it bluntly

If the other party is a member of a secret organization or a wild extraordinary individual committing evil, then killing them will still get you the money. This notebook, which is likely to be of great importance, can be handed over to the Night Watchman, and the merit points gained in return will allow you to continue earning money.

Seeing that a peaceful resolution was impossible, the clown in the tuxedo grinned, raised his white-gloved hand, and snapped his fingers in mid-air.

boom!

In Philip's trembling eyes, there was nothing but the clown standing there, yet instinct still made him fall backward.

When he stood up again, the clown in the tuxedo pulled out a small stack of soft white paper from somewhere and placed it flat in his palm. He pinched one of the papers in his other hand and shook it. The soft white paper suddenly hardened and was thrown at him.

Not a single mistake, not a single poem, not a single post, not a single piece of content, not a single look!

fake?

Philip watched as the paper knife, intact in the rain and dripping wet, hurtled towards him. Prepared, he pulled Elliot aside, his thoughts wandering as he began to consider his opponent's abilities:

"The snapping of his fingers was probably just a smokescreen; I was just startled by myself. Otherwise, he wouldn't have resorted to such an overt attack. But it's also possible he was trying to mislead me."

"To be honest, if it weren't for the rain and the cover of daylight, I probably wouldn't have been able to see this thing clearly."

At this moment, he couldn't help but complain about the monotony of his "Prisoner" abilities. Apart from his superhuman physical abilities, his criminal skills were hardly of any use in direct combat with extraordinary individuals.

A gun is much more practical.

Fortunately, most low-order sequences are like this.

Philip knelt down, handed the umbrella to Elliott, then took off his dirty coat and black vest, wrapped the notebook in the vest, and placed it on the wet ground.

The clown in the tuxedo seemed to have guessed what he was going to do. He didn't throw the sharp, hard piece of paper in his hand, but waited quietly for him to finish his actions, as if he was afraid that something might happen to the notebook.

"Elliott, find a safe place to hide nearby." Philip, who was only wearing his last white shirt, threw away his coat and waved his hand, telling the precious 200 pounds to wait by the side to avoid any accidents.

(End of this chapter)