Ark Undead

But just as the fire caught its breath, she immediately realized something.

He then anxiously shook off the immortal's arm.

"Run! Go back to the lower city and hide!"

Her voice was somewhat hoarse, but even a dead person could hear the unease in her voice.

"I'll carry you on my back, together."

As he spoke, the Undead Man prepared to carry the Heavenly Fire on his back.

No! You're going alone!

Tianhuo took two steps back and pushed the Undead aside.

"If you don't leave now, it will be too late. You are an infected person!"

But it was too late.

Police cars arrived and surrounded the two men.

Tianhuo instinctively grabbed the Undead's arm again.

She was nervous and scared.

The car door opened, and a Filipino police officer stepped out.

He first looked around and saw the four corpses on the ground, as well as the building next to him that had been pierced by Originium magic.

He then turned around and showed his police badge to the two men in front of him.

“I am a senior officer from the Londinium Police Department. You two are involved in a murder.”

The officer did not use force, but there was a hint of threat in his gaze as he looked at the undead.

Then, he glanced at the Heavenly Fire in the Undead's arms.

"Please come with us."

As he spoke, two policemen stepped out from behind him, carrying two gleaming handcuffs.

The undead remained silent, not uttering a single word.

"What? Are you going to resist arrest?!"

The senior police officer's voice rose a notch, and the threat in his tone increased.

The Undead sighed, patted Skyfire's head, and whispered something.

"sorry."

He then turned to face the police and extended his wrist.

113. Turn the tables on them!

"Name."

"Immortal."

"age."

"forget."

"gender."

"male."

Place of origin.

The immortal raised his head and looked at the police officer interrogating him with a puzzled expression.

"What is 'place of origin'?"

"It's about where you're from, Victoria, Casimir, or somewhere else."

The police officer in front of him had a good temper; he poured a glass of water for the immortal and placed it in front of him.

"Drink some water, think it over slowly, you'll have to say it eventually anyway."

The immortal didn't take the glass of water; he looked at the police officer in front of him.

He remained silent for a while, until the police officer in front of him impatiently slammed his hand on the table.

"Speak quickly! I'm taking notes!"

The immortal then slowly spoke.

"No, place of origin."

"Are you kidding me? Don't you have parents?"

The officer slammed his fist on the table and arrogantly pointed at the Undead's nose.

He looks really happy.

However, a few seconds later, he reluctantly withdrew his hand, as if he had thought of something bad.

He then picked up a pen and wrote "Unknown" on the Undead's file.

What followed was a long interrogation.

For example, why would the immortals kill people here? What are their identities? Where do the immortals work now?

However, the immortal wasn't angry; some things were said, and some things were left unsaid.

He speaks slowly, and when he's not talking, he keeps his mouth shut and won't answer any questions.

After asking around for a long time, the officer who couldn't catch anyone dead got almost nothing out of him.

He seemed extremely angry, his voice so loud it could be heard outside, shouting that he would definitely find a way to make the undead talk today.

Even the police officers guarding the door couldn't help but glance at them.

Is this prisoner asking for trouble today?

Finally, the door was kicked open, and the police officer walked out of the room cursing, with an electrified baton strapped to his waist.

The two guards at the gate glanced inside.

The immortal even wore a mask, but his hands were handcuffed, and there were no signs of beatings on his body.

He just sat there, seemingly waiting for the police to handle the situation.

Upon seeing the senior police officer emerge, his assistant, who was waiting for him at the door, quickly approached.

"Boots, how is it?"

"He doesn't say anything, but he's incredibly cheeky."

The officer handed the documents and records of the non-dead to his assistant, then took a sip of water from the glass in the corner.

"Oh, what should we do then?"

The assistant looked somewhat anxious and asked.

"Is it... jail time?"

"Jail him? That's too lenient!"

Officer Boots snorted coldly, smiled sinisterly for a moment, and then waved his hand.

"Throw him over to that bunch of infected scum and let him hang out with them for a bit!"

"what?"

The assistant seemed a bit bewildered; he never expected it to be handled this way.

After Boots took a couple of sips of water, his assistant seemed to remember something and asked again.

"No, in areas where infected people live, are only infected people allowed to enter?"

"He is infected."

Boots glanced sideways at his assistant.

"Using Originium magic in public, without even carrying a staff—what else could this be but an Infected?"

"But... the test results haven't come back yet."

The assistant stammered a few words in a low voice, then asked.

"Should we...wait a little longer?"

"Wait my ass! I'll show this stubborn idiot what happens when he's being defiant! Go, send him to the infected area right now!"

Officer Boots rolled up his sleeves and said menacingly.

"I'll personally escort him and see if he behaves!"

The assistant didn't dare to argue, so he took the file on the undead man and retreated to handle the follow-up matters.

But then his boss spoke up.

"Also, let that woman go. She has the Warlock Association backing her up, so she's not easy to deal with. Tell her to go home as soon as possible and stop fooling around outside late at night."

"Okay, boss, I got it."

As Officer Boots watched his assistant meekly carry the files away, his anger gradually subsided.

Then his eyes narrowed, and a strange, cold smile appeared on his face.

He turned around and walked up the corridor to the smoking room on the third floor of the police station.

It's already late at night, and there's no one on the entire third floor, not just in the smoking room.

Boots lit a cigarette and then pulled out his communicator from his pocket.

He dialed the last unnamed number in his contacts.

With a few beeps, the call was connected.

Boots spoke respectfully.

"Second sister, the arrangements have been made."

"Yes, I know. There's no need to guarantee his safety."