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5.living dead person

Life is like a pool of stagnant water. When stagnant water sits for a long time, it can contain more than its fair share of unexpected junk. Clayton held a candle to light the cellar, his tawny eyes sparkling in the dimness from just a little light. A number of chain hooks hung from the top of the cellar, and he used them to hang up raw meat to keep rats from stealing it. But it was no defense against men. A man was gnawing at the hanging frozen meat with his back to him, shoulders shrugging, chewing in a continuous stream, and the chains the pieces of meat were attached to rustling. Clayton had made the guess earlier that the Grail would have the ability to manipulate the living dead, and now it was confirmed. There were many similar rumors in the colonies, as well as unknown photos circulating, that the half-living were tortured in life, and that their deaths were more painful than others, and so the dead souls were bound to rotting corpses full of rage, and that the sorcerers knew how to awaken them to their own service. They are said to reek of rot and resemble werewolves in their recipes, and their hunger is even more insatiable. Would be attracted to raw meat for that very reason. But Clayton never thought the other would lose control in the presence of raw meat. Stealing before the surveillance mission was even completed, no dedication at all. Sensing the change in light, the chewing stopped, and the man turned his head, revealing glassy, lifeless eyes and a bloodstained mouth that was stained at the corners. Clayton remembered his scent, having seen it in the theater. "What are you doin' here? I'm going to call the sheriff if you don't get out!" The living dead were not supposed to be able to speak, but when Creighton had seen the other man in the theater he had been quite active, able to make complex expressions and movements, so a tentative attempt at communication had been made. The living dead didn't speak, it pulled a short knife from its belt, bent its knees slightly and exerted itself, then lunged. Clayton raised his empty right hand and grabbed his wrist to stop the blade from hurting him. The living dead were much stronger than the average male, and if it had been the old him, he might have struggled to cope with it. But for him who had already become a werewolf, this amount of strength from the living dead was definitely not enough to break free from his shackles. The monster that had already lost its humanity didn't give up just because its right hand was restrained, it grabbed Clayton's wrist with its left hand in turn, and then opened its mouth and bit over - with unexpectedly neat teeth. Clayton had no intention of letting it succeed; he turned at the waist, transferring his weight to his right leg, and with his left leg slightly raised, he aimed a fast and powerful side kick at the living dead's knee. After a crunching sound, the living dead's right leg folded over horizontally and Its unbalanced body lurched, missing Creighton's hand, but still grasping his right hand tightly. On Creighton's left hand, the tiny flame of light from the candle flickered rapidly as the air currents disturbed it. Although Creighton had night vision, it was just his eyes focusing the light more easily, he still couldn't see well in places where there was really no light, such as in the cellar, so he still needed to bring lighting gear. If his opponent was still free to move around after the candles were inadvertently extinguished, he would be stuck in an unfavorable situation. One could not stay his hand. After making the decision, his left hand, which was holding the candle tightly, was raised high, but his right hand, which was grabbed, was jerked back, causing the living dead man, who had already lost the mobility of one leg, to tilt toward him, and then switching his center of gravity, he stood on his left leg, and blasted his opponent's solar plexus with a knee strike that went from right to left with a heavy thud....... The cellar was plunged into darkness as the body planted itself. Clayton's movement was so great that the candle still went out. He untied the hand that was still clutching his own in the darkness, and on contact felt the remains of thesoft skin that retained residual warmth, and his mind went blank. He remembered that in the legend, the body of the living dead is cold ...... .................... The following morning. Coming out of the St. Mellon Parish Sheriff's Department, Clayton was in an unprecedentedly bad mood. The sheriff was not a job, but a part-time job, done out of a general sense of justice. The sheriffs in each city were elected and funded by the citizens themselves, and therefore had little power and a lax approach to law enforcement. As a well-connected antique dealer, he was a prominent figure in the city, and the sheriffs had decided his innocence without even visiting his home. The body has now been sent to the Sheriff's Department morgue to be claimed by its living family. That dead man would not have been convicted of murder even if he had died because of his trespassing and violent behavior. But that's not how things count. Taking out an enemy who took a strong stand would be something he wouldn't feel guilty about, killing someone who was mentally involuntary and controlled by the evil behind the scenes is a different matter. This person could have been a decent person in life, and now he's dying with the guilt. It's all the Grail Council's guilt. The odor of decay had misled him; he had thought it was just the living dead, but he hadn't realized it was a fully living person. After getting up close and personal, Clayton realized that the layer of rotting smell on the body, while strong, was floating on the surface and was not the smell of the watcher himself. That smell should have originated from the person behind the Grail Council. Clayton believed that the other party possessed the ability to turn people crazy and then exert mind control, otherwise there was no way to explain the fact that this poor man would also eat raw meat - his body was just an ordinary person. As it was, the Watchers hadn't gone back, and it was about time that the emissary sent by the Grail Council to Sasha City knew that he had a problem here. Accidental or not, the other side would probably increase their interference. He had to make sure he had the intelligence advantage before the anticipated fight came. Joe hadn't told him much about the Grail Council, which might have prevented him from getting involved deeper, except now that option no longer applied. He was going to find Joe Marney and ask for clarification. Clayton found the black public carriage he had ridden in on his way here on the street, pulled open the door and got in. The carriage shook as his foot hit the pedal. The driver, who had been squinting at the front end, opened his eyes and grabbed the reins in his hand: "Where do you want to go, sir?" "To go around this parish, I want to familiarize myself with the place." "As you wish." The coachman lifted the reins, the worn-out horse pulling the cart lifted its hooves, and the wheels rumbled and turned, crushing through the muddy water and causing a cock-a-doodle-doo among the crowded pedestrians. In the aftermath of the Loren War, Sasha City had undergone a planned reconstruction that had widened the city streets considerably, but once again, the streets lagged behind in width when the influx of outsiders seeking work came in. The crowded outside of the wagons was the best evidence of this. ............ Joe Marney didn't say where he was going to take shelter when he parted from Creighton, but Creighton could probably guess where he would be hiding. The first was near the infantry camp at St. Talos Parish. The second was downtown, near White Curtain Cathedral. The third was near the General Sheriff's Office in St. Mellon Parish. Each of these three places was special in its own way, but what they had in common was that no one ever dared to get into a private fight near them. Clayton was fortunate that the wagon had not traveled long before he caught Joe's scent. "Stop here." He commanded. The driver strangled the reins, prompting the horses to slow down and turn slightly to the right. The carriage came to a stop in front of a small church with white walls and a red roof. Clayton got out and paid to frown at the cross spires that stared up from the building. Legend had it that Carola, the God of Light, had given the angels holy swords after the creation of the world, ordering them to guard the world. Those who worshipped Carola then took the holy sword cross as their symbol. It was from this chapel that Joe Mani's scent came. But Creighton wondered if he, a werewolf, would be ostracized from the church, and his feet stopped at the door. Churches were the domain of the gods, and in the event that they contained a divine patronage like the Bishop's Ring Seal of the Court of Judgment, which could cause a forced transformation, his social identity would be over from that point on. He stood in the doorway for a moment before a priest in black vestments inside kindly volunteered to step out: "Do you need any help, child?" Clayton's clothes had been carefully matched for business and socializing, and coupled with his good looks, his well-considered appearance made it impossible for anyone to easily suspect him. "Hello, Father. I'm looking for a man in your place, he should be a recent arrival, and I've been asked to take a message to him." The priest nodded gently, "I think you're looking for Martin, the new volunteer.