The Memoirs of Cultivating Immortals

Chapter 238
The two left No. 93 Diagon Alley and walked in the dark alley.

Constantine shook off the ash and asked casually, "Are you nervous, kid?"

"Nervous? No, I'm calm."

Harry secretly touched the wand in his trouser pocket, and replied calmly: "Also, please don't call me 'boy', Mr. Constantine."

Constantine curled his lips noncommittally, looked at this young colleague newly assigned to him, and said casually: "Okay then, Savior Potter, let me change the question, have you ever killed anyone?"

"Does this have anything to do with our mission?"

"Of course." Constantine said with a smile: "You see, I like to act alone, because any partner who takes an adventure with me will die in all likelihood, either by being torn to pieces by an evil mage, or It is to be pierced by thousands of arrows in the trap, or the soul is dragged away and tortured by hell demons.

But now that I work for Mr. Li Ang, I can no longer treat my companions as one-time consumables.

So I have to know something about you, at least let me know that you are not the kind of saint who will put me in danger because of soft heart at the critical moment-this possibility will extend to the future where I have to kill you. "

"Don't worry, Mr. Constantine, this possibility does not exist."

Harry Potter said calmly, "I don't mind getting blood on my hands if I have to."

"That's not enough."

Constantine grinned, "Look, Mr. Leon gave us an order to set off a revolution that swept London, do you know what that means?

Just like the tea leaves dumped in Boston Bay in 1773, and the gunshots fired in Sarajevo in 1914, we are the fuse that ignites the powder keg in London.

The collision of ideals and lies, the struggle between justice and morality and the inherent legal system, the intertwining of death and blood, the dance of chaos and disorder, our actions will incite the people of London, many people will die, and the lives of these innocent people will be counted as yours on the head.

Can you bear it?Can you stick to your original intention? "

"I can."

"Lie." Constantine shook his head, "Tell me, how old are you now? 17? 18?

What we want to do is not treat guests to dinner, or paint and embroider, but a naked, bloody violent revolution.

I'm ready to kill, you better get ready, kid. "

The light of the cigarette was extinguished here, the topic ended, and the two walked out of the alley and parted ways.

They have their own battlefield.

----

On a cold rainy night, Constantine was walking on a path in the suburbs of the city.

The desolate rain hit the dome hat, the hem of the robe was blown by the wind brush, and the chill came in through the cuffs, causing Constantine to tighten his sleeves.

At the end of the road, the outline of the English-style manor is looming, and a dozen luxury sports cars are faintly parked on the curved gravel road.

A banquet was being held there, a banquet limited to the uppermost elite in England.

Constantine didn't drive a luxury sports car, and he was wearing exotic clothes, so as soon as his boots stepped on the lawn, there were security personnel in suits and leather shoes with big waists approaching.

"Sir, please show me your invitation."

As the security personnel said, his palms were faintly pressed on the batons around his waist.

"Invitation? Well, let me see, I should have put it here."

Constantine slowly put his hand into his skirt pocket, took out a porcelain mask from it, and put it on his face, "This is my invitation card."

The two burly security guards looked at each other and walked over from left to right, "Sir, this is a private property, trespassing without permission"

"I advise you."

Constantine interrupted the security guard's lines, and said calmly: "Get out of here now, drive your broken car, go home and sleep for a night, nothing will happen."

A trace of hesitation flashed across the security guard's brows. Obviously, they didn't seriously consider the masked man's suggestion, but were thinking about how to take down this nonsense lunatic with the least cost.

"Aren't you leaving? I admire your professionalism."

Constantine curled his lips, and firmly clasped the shoulders of the two security guards with his palms.

The body of this warlock has been transformed countless times by the underground base. The two magic hearts can release surging magic power, the three lungs can absorb the ether in the air through breathing, and the ribs formed into bone plates can withstand the impact of hydraulic machines. , the artificial muscle fiber bundle injected with venom parasite is even more indestructible.

Constantine easily threw two security guards into the air, causing them to slam on a certain sports car, and passed out.

As the window glass was shattered into pieces, the sudden sound of a sharp vehicle siren interrupted the harmonious atmosphere in the banquet hall, and the bands that were guest-starred by the upper-level elite also stopped playing music. Everyone looked out, trying to see clearly What the hell is going on out there.

Constantine pushed open the heavy door and walked in, his black leather boots stomping on the marble floor, making a crisp and melodious kicking sound.

"Good evening, everyone."

He bowed pretendingly, and the masked smile was extremely sarcastic.

The male owner of the manor came out. The handsome middle-aged man frowned and asked in the most elegant Oxford accent, "Who are you?"

"I am electricity, I am light, I am an insignificant dust mustard, and I am the king who controls the lives and deaths of billions of people—it doesn't matter, what matters is who are you?"

Constantine scanned the crowd, even though he hadn't returned to London for a long time, he could still find some familiar faces in the crowd.

A tycoon in the medical insurance industry, a media group tycoon, a bishop of a diocese in London, and the next cabinet minister who will run for the prime minister
Everyone present is a leader in their respective fields, and they are all "big shots" who can stomp their feet and shake the situation in London.

Ordinary people may never see them in their entire lives. When they saw them on the street that day, they had to take out their mobile phones to take pictures with excitement.

More importantly, only a small part of these big shots are blood clans, and more people are just mediocre ordinary people, flattering and flattering blood clans with a flattering and humble attitude—like a dog wagging its tail and begging for attention .

Constantine stroked the mask's lips, and the cold ceramic felt the sorcerer feel as if he were touching a woman's skin.

He turned his face and said softly to the manor owner: "Can you tell me, what is the theme of this banquet?"

"It was just a charity dinner, and it was attended by decent people."

The owner of the manor said with a blank face: "Listen, sir, I don't know why you came here, but I advise you to leave immediately, because what happens next will not be so civilized."

Constantine didn't seem to have heard the second half of the threat, touched his chin, and said to himself: "If the dinner between the blood race and the non-blood race is just food, wine, music, and dancing, it will seem a bit vulgar. Boring, isn't it?
Let me guess, there must be some more exciting content here, some content that can make you aristocrats who have enough power feel excited."

He raised his arm and pointed to a certain wooden door at the end of the banquet hall.

The ether commanded like an arm, and easily blasted the wooden door away, and dragged a giant dining car parked behind the door.

The owner of the manor shrank his pupils, and there was a sound of silk tearing from the well-tailored suit. When his body swelled, thick blood could rise from his feet.

Among the crowd, there were also blood clans who stood up. These sacred blood clans who possessed extraordinary power silently guarded the various exits of the mansion, looking at the masked man in the center of the hall with cold eyes.

The three-story dining car was covered by a red cloth, and it was vaguely invisible. Constantine walked up slowly and lifted the red cloth.

On the top floor of the dining car was a girl with long blonde hair. She was wearing a white wedding dress, with hemp ropes tied around her hands and feet. She was half-conscious and hung on a wooden cross. Her white and flawless skin looked even more divine under the light.

On the second floor of the dining car, there is a large box of syringes with slender hoses. These syringes are lying safely in the wooden box, waiting for people to pick it up.

"The content of the banquet is the ceremony."

Constantine said softly: "In order to consolidate the bond between the vampire and the mortal elite, it is necessary to maintain long-term communication, and the best way to communicate and domesticate is through inhumane and anti-social rituals.

Just like the United States likes to gather a bunch of rich businessmen to sacrifice to evil gods, you will find a pure and beautiful girl, tie her to a cross, poke her blood vessels with a syringe, and suck her blood one by one.

The blood of the young girls who have been raised for several days has already been filled with high concentrations of psychedelic drugs. These potbellied mortal elites will complete the "spiritual sublimation" in this religious ceremony. In this way, they hypnotize themselves and think that they are far away from The blood race went one step further. "

Constantine turned around slowly, looked at the gloomy blood race and humans, and said flatly: "All religions use various rituals to strengthen mystery and hypnosis. The only difference is the cruelty of the ritual process. or not."

The owner of the manor smiled and shook his head, and walked slowly along with other blood compatriots, surrounded the masked man, "What do you want to explain?"

".I don't want to explain anything."

Constantine stared at the mortal elite standing in the distance with indifferent eyes, and said calmly: "I just want to ask, how long has this ceremony been held? How many people have been involved? How many people have been killed? Life? Does anyone care?"

"Just a bunch of pigs."

A skinny and pale young man from the blood clan sneered and said, "As many dirty things as you want, sometimes I like to push those half-sucked half-blooded, half-dead women to the ground, and shoot again while it's hot."

He moved his lower body, such a rude movement caused a burst of laughter.

Including the human elite, no one is nervous or panic. This is the manor of the blood race, the stronghold of the blood race, and no one—whether he is Dumbledore or the ancient one, whether he is Grindelwald or Voldemort—can't stir up trouble here. storm.

"That's right, it's just a pig!" Another blood race echoed, drank the red wine, let the wine glass fall freely, and hit the ground, "If you go to our back garden with a hoe, you can find it in those flower beds. The reason why it blooms so lushly."

"Speaking of flower gardens."

The blood youth seemed to have remembered something, looked at the media group tycoon in the crowd, and said casually: "By the way, Mike, isn't there a nosy reporter in your BBC? I heard that the daughter of a certain country woman left Lost, entrust him to investigate?"

The media group tycoon hurriedly said: "He has been dealt with properly, and no one will ask again."

The blood clan youth smiled with satisfaction, "That's good, continue to help us manage Britain well, sooner or later, the qualification for the conversion ceremony will fall on your head."

"Really? Thank you so much." The media tycoon exclaimed excitedly, and under the envious eyes of others, he knelt down and kissed the ring on the finger of the blood youth.

This is the situation in the UK.

Constantine watched all this indifferently. The high-ranking elite gentlemen served the blood clan, begging for the qualification of the conversion ceremony, so as to maintain the rotten and stinking body.

For the sake of the so-called longevity, these people can do the most despicable and inhumane things—no, even if there is no blood race as an incentive, the thoroughly corrupted elites can still be cannibals, using power and wealth to satisfy the deepest desires in their hearts. The wildest, most filthy fantasies.

Constantine, who considered himself a scumbag, looked at the crowd and almost vomited. Even the cruelest and cruelest demon in hell could not persecute fellow human beings shamelessly and immorally like these people.

Hell is empty, the devil is on earth.

Constantine raised his arm and pointed at the excited and grateful media tycoon from afar.

"Ezekiel 25:[-]."

He whispered, "The path of justice is surrounded by tyrannical villains who lead the weak in the name of mercy and goodwill."

The prayer was blurted out, and the miserable green light directly hit the fat-headed nobleman, causing him to slump to the ground, screaming incessantly.

The nobleman's skin was withering, his flesh and blood were rotting, and his eyeballs suddenly became violent, splashing muddy water all over the floor.

"Blessed is the man who guides the way through darkness, for he takes care of his fellows and finds lost lambs."

His soul is burning, and the unspeakable sins have turned into karma, tormenting this corrupted soul.

The flesh and blood in his throat turned into flies, gushing out from the nostrils, mouth, and ear canals, covering his brain-flowing head.

"Those who dare to abuse my companions, I will take revenge on them."

The tragedy happened too fast, and as soon as the vampire elites reacted, Constantine turned his arm and pointed his fingertips at the thin vampire.

"Then they will know that I am the LORD."

The miserable green light lit up again and hit the vampire.

Flesh withered, howls sounded, and a long breath came from the depths of the manor.

The blood clan elders here are awake.

"Wake up? That's even better."

Constantine grinned, looked at the panicked vampires and humans, and said softly, "Let's kill."

(End of this chapter)