This is the first time I've seen the man Sheepskin Killer in real life, and he's different from what I imagined.

It is estimated that the dress of "wearing sheepskin and oil paint on his face" is too prominent as a character, and I always imagined him as "a priest from an ancient barbarian tribe", but in fact this person was still wearing a dirty blue overalls, yellow rubber gloves on his hands, and a pair of gray (and probably originally white) flat shoes that had not been washed for a long time. Because he was in a hurry to go to a cross-dress-themed party with his old classmates from high school, he had to change into a tribal priest's uniform and apply oil paint on his face while hurrying, but he forgot to take off his original clothes in a careless manner.

He was about forty years old, had a belly, and his skin was starting to sag, about the same age as my father, Lao Xu, and this kind of nondescript dress was not funny.

But in addition to being funny, this kind of dress has a serious meaning in terms of "psionics".

In very distant antiquity, savages liked to hunt sheep, sheep were not as fierce as wild boars, not as strong as oxen, not as agile as rats and rabbits, not only meaty, but also gregarious, and stupid brains, some experienced hunters could even put on sheep's horns and sheepskins to mix in, and easily hunt sheep.

This primitive and rudimentary camouflage is the earliest "feign".

Hunters are superstitious about the natural and mysterious rituals contained in their tried and tested hunting techniques, so a very small number of hunters with psychic abilities rely on this superstition to develop this "hunting technique" into "witchcraft hunting", so that people or animals who should be hostile to them regard themselves as companions, or turn a blind eye to themselves as passers-by everywhere.

In modern times, this "feign technique" has been eliminated by better spells and has been reduced to an unpopular spell.

When I first heard about the sheepskin killer's outfit and his elusive resume, I was skeptical and a little unconfident, but he actually did it, which made me feel like I was watching a chef dig into wood to make a fire in a modern urban kitchen.

At this point, needless to say, the Sheepskin Killer is no longer "most likely a psyker", he is.

This is no more, no less is good news, the first blood sacrifice ceremony can use psionics as a living sacrifice, and I believe that the feedback will not be less.

*

I staggered out of the shadows at the mouth of the alley, leaning on a black metal cane, and approached the sheepskin killer.

Feints didn't work for me.

I lack the potential to be a psychic more than anyone else in this world, which means that my "inspiration"—or "soul awareness," is duller than anyone else in this world.

In other words, when the feign technique worked on me, my soul was unaware of the fact that I had been tricked.

And in the world of the soul, "unconscious" is equivalent to "not existing", as if standing behind a deaf person and telling him a joke, he doesn't know where the joke is, he doesn't know where the joke is, he doesn't even know where you are.

The Sheepskin Killer was not alone at this time, he had a female companion by his side, about twenty years old, dressed in casual clothes like an urban white-collar worker who went out shopping after work, and talked and laughed with the Sheepskin Killer.

The woman paid no attention to his strange outfit and ignored his viscous and malicious gaze.

"I forgot to ask, what's your name?" The woman asked with a smile, she didn't even know the name of the sheepskin killer, and she didn't have the slightest hint of being hypnotized about taking herself to such an inaccessible place.

There's no doubt she's the sheepskin killer's prey tonight.

"You can call me a 'demon,' and you'll be calling me that soon without me saying it." The sheepskin killer said with a smile, matching with the oil paint on his face, exuding a savage and bloody flavor.

Even so, the woman couldn't be on guard, just smiled and responded, "You're really joking." ”

"I'm not kidding, I've had some ......," the Sheepskin Killer was about to continue, but I stopped in front of them, and he paused, "...... Well? ”

I switched from my left cane to my right hand, and even though my right hand couldn't move, I could still keep the head of the cane resting.

"Do you need help?" The woman asked with concern.

"Yes, I need help." I said, "But not yours." ”

"What?"

As soon as she finished speaking, I took out a pocket-sized gray spray can from my left hand, which contained liquid medicine that could cause a coma. I seized the moment she was breathing and pressed the spray can on her face, and the liquid medicine sprayed out in the form of a white mist.

Inevitably, she inhaled some, then waved her hand in front of her in a panic, trying to disperse the spray, but it was too late, and within seconds, she was holding her forehead, her legs shaking, her eyelids fighting, and finally she fell to the ground, unconscious.

The Sheepskin Killer saw all of this, and he should have been able to stop it in time when I made my move, but he acted indifferent.

I could tell in his attitude that he was at a loss for what was going on, his contempt for me, his indifference for women, and his arrogance at himself that he could dominate the situation with violence as long as he had that idea—the same kind of arrogance that many psykers would show when dealing with ordinary people, consciously or unconsciously.

He didn't even bother to hold the woman, he just raised his chin slightly, and looked at me as if he were looking at a raw steak, while I took out a black, leather, old, short-beaked beak mask from my pocket and put it on my face.

Why do you have to wear a mask after all of them? Wouldn't this be redundant, or even add to it? I've questioned myself for some reason, and while it's okay to explain it here, I'd better focus on the situation at hand in order to avoid overpowering the situation.

The Sheepskin Killer looked at my mask and asked with pity, "Who are you?" ”

Obviously, he didn't recognize my mask. Maybe my reputation didn't last as long as I thought, and the city's Black Zone residents had already swept me out of the memo, which was a small blow to me. Fortunately, whether or not the living sacrifice knows my reputation has nothing to do with the effect of the ritual.

"I'm going to have a blood sacrifice ceremony." I said to him, "Come and be my living sacrifice." ”

"What did you say?" The Sheepskin Killer looked stunned, "Is your brain okay?" ”

"Are you going to go with me yourself, or are you going to break your leg and let me drag you along?" I deliberately provoked him by switching my cane to my still usable left hand.

"Inexplicable!" Enraged, he clenched his right fist, wearing a yellow rubber glove, and pulled back to build up.

In the next moment, his fist struck at a speed that the naked eye could not catch, like the tongue of a toad sticking out.

However, this set of actions exposed his amateurism in fighting, which also coincided with the information that Adam gave me.

Anyone who has some experience in fighting will make his punches and kicks more sudden, and I can understand his mood when he wants to make his fists more destructive, but the action of "pulling back and accumulating" is very redundant.

Especially as the first hand of the active party, it is best to be able to apply punches and kicks to the opponent's vital point when the other party realizes that he is going to do it, and some people will even be like the gangster movies often filmed: while paralyzing the opponent's consciousness with gentle words, while quietly holding the wine bottle, and then slamming the opponent by surprise.

Frankly, I couldn't see his fists clearly, but the direction of his toes, the subtle movements of his shoulders, the landing of his gaze, etc., all exposed his movements.

I turned my head and body around and let his fist go into the air, and admittedly, the wind was as strong as if I had suddenly passed a car at full speed when I fell, but if I missed, it would only fan me.

As I could gain my footing, he lifted his leg and kicked me hard, a kick that was enough to go through the rock, but I dodged it too.

At the same time, I pressed the mechanism of the black metal cane, and a shiny silver blade popped out from the bottom of the cane. I stabbed him with this.

He didn't have time to put his leg down, he couldn't dodge, he could only watch as the blade hit his chest, and his face changed.

Unfortunately, my blade didn't even cut through his clothes, and his body was covered with an invisible shield that protected his flesh like armor made of steel.

He was stunned for a moment, and then sneered: "You cripple is really good at hiding!" You should know who I am, right? Seeing that you are such an evil sect, I am worried that you came prepared, with a psionic weapon in your hand, it turns out to be an ordinary prop! ”

He suddenly grabbed my throat with his hand, a simple-minded attack that I could easily deal with before I was disabled, but now I could only dodge it in a position that looked like I was slipping backwards on the ice, and then I used my cane to support my body, and dodge it in time for his next blow.

I dodged and counterattacked, but all my attacks hit a wall, and as long as he touched me, I was finished. This made him appear particularly rampant in his impatience, "What's the use of this boot-tickling attack?" Look how I ripped off your childish mask and made you look pained! ”

I don't speak.

"I've stepped on it here beforehand, and this street is hardly passable at this time, and it's useless for you to shout for help." He tried to break my will, "You're here to save that woman, right?" It's a shame that you're going to be caught by me with her next. Do you know? I like to appreciate other people's fears the most, but I find the screams annoying. Fortunately, after becoming a psychic, I can directly capture the strong feelings of others through 'inspiration'.

"So next, I'm going to cut your vocal cords first.

"Then I'll gouge out your eyeballs, destroy your hearing, hollow out your nasal cavity, and cut out your tongue.

From now on, the only connection you have with this world is the sense of touch, and this only sense will only transmit pain to you.

"When a person is deprived of all other senses, the remaining senses become extremely acute, as is pain. You won't die simply, I'll let you live for at least a week, let you experience all kinds of pain that is worse than death, and then send you to the Yellow Spring after turning into a pile of ignorant flesh and blood! ”

I asked, "Is it just you?" ”

The next second, I pressed the mechanism, put away the blade at the bottom of the cane, and immediately jerked it at him with my cane.

I'd done this kind of attack before, and none of them had any effect, so this time he didn't even bother to dodge, and just sent his cheek to my cane.

But this time, the attack worked, and he was pulled aside by me, and the whole person fell to the ground, his cheeks swollen, and even his teeth fell out.

He braced himself up and touched his cheek before realizing what had happened and screaming in pain, "Ah! What's going on! ”

"Your defenses are indeed very strong, I'm afraid they were formed with psionic energy while imagining real armor, right?" I said, "I have to say that your imagery is very realistic, and the restoration of psionic armor is very high, so I can use the same technique as real armor to deal with you." ”

"What? Technique? He asked in shock and anger.

"It's just dark. As the saying goes, it's 'fighting cattle across the mountains'. ”

It's been a long time since I've fought a psionic, so it took a little effort to pick up the "dark energy of armor-piercing" and find out the "texture" of his psionic defense.

Then, I deliberately used anti-common sense words to stimulate his self-esteem, "It's not a big deal, ordinary martial artists can do it." ”

"Nonsense!" His anger exploded like a bomb, and people bounced off the ground and rushed towards me.

Although the speed is impressive, this kind of movement is too flawed, as if it is deliberately exposing the empty door to make it easier for me to attack.

I dodged his attack, and immediately my left cane slammed into the ground, and with the cane as a support, the force rose from the ground, and my right leg suddenly popped out.

The kick hit him in the stomach, sending him flying like a ball and smashing into a street lamp not far away.

The martial arts I learned about kicks that don't exceed the height of the knee, and although this kick was confident, it didn't make sense, so when I got it, I immediately retracted my right leg and put it back on the ground.

I am aware of my kicking speed, and I can see from the previous battle, although his attack and defense are beyond ordinary people, but the speed of consciousness is no different from ordinary people, I am afraid that he didn't see the kick just now, he can only see my cane hit the ground, and then his stomach was hit hard at the same time, as if the ground and his stomach formed a damaged relationship - normal people look at martial arts masters almost like this, martial arts to this point, it does look no different from psionic energy.

But it's not psionic power, it's not psionic energy that I'm after.

I pressed the mechanism of my cane again, and this time, the sides of the cane clicked open one by one, neatly arranged like dotted lines, and then like a push-on ballpoint pen popping out the nib, from all the openings listed silver blades.

The sheepskin killer struggled to get up while vomiting blood in pain, and his face turned pale at the sight of this scene. His pride as a psionic person seemed to have been kicked to pieces, and he immediately used his psionic energy to speed himself up, without saying a word of nonsense, and turned around and fled.

I swung my black metal cane vigorously, and it suddenly split into sections, connected by steel cables in the middle, extending out like a specially lengthened iron whip, and struck him in the back, the jagged blade biting his back into a bloody blur.

"Ahh He let out a scream and fell to the ground again.

"Because you're focused on accelerating imagery, you can't maintain the image of the armor? If it's a 'trained psionic' that I know, this kind of dual-purpose kung fu is simply hand-to-hand. As I spoke, I let the cane return to its original shape, "Stand up, and not cut your leg muscles." As a psyker, how can you be so ugly? ”

But instead of running, he crawled like some kind of disgusting reptile into the alley where I had been hiding. He was so fierce just now, and when he fell into the danger of life and death, he looked as humble as a worm, which was really jaw-dropping.

Seeing the ugliness of the psykers I had dreamed of becoming, instead of being complacent, I felt a sense of displeasure.

I followed him into the alley, but he didn't get far, and when he saw me coming in, he looked at me in a panic, and uttered a cry that could not form a word. I turned a deaf ear to it, and just approached him hobbling with a cane. The dim lights of the street shone from behind, and my dark shadow was like a tide, starting from his feet until even his terrified face was drowned out.

"Don't come here!"

Finally, like crazy, he took his pistol out of his arms and aimed it at me.

*

I'm afraid of firearms.

No matter how hard I work on my body and martial arts, and train myself to the point where I can counter firearms to a certain extent, I still tend to fall into a fear of firearms. How can I not be afraid? I died at gunpoint in my last life, which may be the so-called post-traumatic stress disorder, and in my case, it is not an exaggeration to call it "post-death stress disorder".

So two years ago, I asked my partner this question: "How can I overcome fear?" ”

"Conquer fear?" He sat in the shadows and laughed, "No one can overcome fear. ”

"How can it be said that fear cannot be defeated? I know that there are brave people who can overcome even the fear of death. I said.

"They're sick in the head." He insisted that I choked for a while.

I had to ask the other question, "So ordinary people like me have nothing to do about fear after all?" ”

"Most people who say they are ordinary people cannot be trusted." He looked at me critically, and then answered my question, "Well, it's not without a way, if fear is a disease, and the brave can overcome it automatically with immunity, then ordinary people in the real sense like me can only take medicine." Although it is like anesthesia that can only be used for a short time, it is still a good medicine. Do you know what I'm referring to? ”

"Is it the 'drug' that people in the black zone often buy and sell?"

"That's useful, though it's more harmful. But I'm not talking about material medicine, I'm talking about spiritual medicine. ”

I thought about it for a moment and asked, "Extremely incendiary ideas?" ”

He replied: "No, it is the fear of the enemy. ”

*

The sheepskin killer's pistol was thrown into a corner like scrap metal.

I dragged his feet deeper down the alley.

He screamed in fear, trying to grasp the ground and everything else he could.

"It's almost impossible for people to pass through this street at this time, and it's useless to shout for help." I put it this way.

But he still didn't give up, and made his voice out in a heart-rending voice. Like him, I actually like to watch the enemy's fearful reactions, and even occasionally add some non-practical actions to make the enemy more frightened, but his screams are too annoying anyway, and he is also a psyker, so it is troublesome to struggle.

As I walked, a flash of inspiration struck me.

"By the way, what else did you just say......" I looked back at him, "'Cut your vocal cords first', yes?" And then what? ”

He stopped screaming abruptly, his eyes lit up with pleading and despair.

I put my hand down his throat.