The Death Knell

The relationship between nails and the soul has a long history. Like hair, it is considered to be the annual ring of life, recording everything in a person's past.

Of course, this statement comes from witchcraft and is a mysterious legend spread all over the world.

From China to Africa, from South America to Northern Europe, nails are regarded as important spellcasting materials in the occult legends of many regions.

However, in American comics, these traditional things have a name different from magic in the mysterious side. They are called voodoo or witchcraft.

Interestingly, thousands of years ago, when humans on earth did not have communication or effective means of transportation, the usage of nails was surprisingly similar around the world.

It is considered part of the soul.

In the Chinese dynasty, there was a traditional method of cursing by collecting the enemy's fingernails, and then having professionals, such as witch doctors or shamans, perform a spell-casting process, which was said to cause the enemy's body to fester and annihilate his descendants.

When Su Ming was a child in his previous life, he heard a similar story told by the janitor at the orphanage. He told him that after cutting his nails, he should put them away. It was best to wrap them in paper and burn them. Otherwise, if the nails were eaten by mice, the mice would become It becomes another Su Ming, and then kills the real person, and it replaces him.

I don’t know if it’s true, but at least it sounded scary at the time.

In Northern Europe, the use of nails has directly become a myth. It is said that Hela has a ship made of the nails of the dead, which will transport souls to the underworld of Heim in Ragnarok. Only such a soul ship can carry the souls of the dead. Through different countries.

Deathstroke asked Hela, but unfortunately the goddess of the underworld in 40K Earth does not have the famous death ship Naglfar. She said that just thinking about playing with other people's nails is disgusting, let alone using it. Ships were built.

In South America, the Mayans used blood, hair, nails or foreskin to sacrifice to the gods. Of course, the kings or nobles generally enjoyed this treatment. Ordinary slaves cut off their heads directly and offered sacrifices, and brave warriors cut out their hearts. The sacrifices are all different.

Playing with human nails is not very popular in North America. Indians like to use animal nails, such as making 'lucky rabbit feet' and so on.

In his previous life, the famous British folklorist Fraser also recorded a lot of things about nails in his witchcraft book "The Golden Bough", telling various legends and rituals about nails in Britain, France, Russia and Africa.

There is no mysterious legend about nails in Australia, but that's right. Australia was a penal colony for British criminals at that time. After sailing on that long sea road for several months, the criminals in the cell cabin were probably so bored that they chewed off their fingernails. .

If your ancestors don't have something, your descendants won't have it either.

In short, with the help of the devil, the process of finding the chief is much easier. As a hell creature, it will not die completely outside the hell dimension, so it uses its branch-like claws to stir up the shit in its boots. He probably won't die from nausea.

He was tired of the ugliness of human nature, so he wandered in time for centuries, traveling thousands of miles in the invisible and tangible worlds, wasting his time.

But the loud sound of the origin wall breaking was like a bell, waking up the wanderer trapped in the journey, so after a period of soaring, he returned to this dimension that once belonged to him.

For a person, being forgotten by others may be one of the most terrifying things, but if you become the source of fear, then people will always think of themselves when they are afraid.

With a burst of black feathers falling, an old man with white beard and hair suddenly appeared in an alley. He was wearing a tight-fitting leather windbreaker with a large feather collar as decoration. Although he no longer looked young, his tall black leather jacket The boots look full of punk.

In addition, he also held a round-headed carved cane, looking like a British gentleman who came out of a steampunk world.

A ray of red light flashed in his pupils, and he scanned the street and found his destination, which was an old bookstore on the corner. The lights were still on, like a beacon in the dark.

The name of the bookstore is also very interesting, called One Thousand and One Pages.

But obviously the old man didn't know this. He just walked through the deserted street with a cane. The cold wind at night seemed to be walking around him. His posture was upright, so he probably didn't need a cane at all.

"jingle."

The brass bell on the door rang as the door opened. Behind the counter of the bookstore, a fat boss wearing glasses put down his cell phone and looked at the door.

"Mr. Willett?"

"It's Wales, thank you, although there's really no difference." The old man walked towards the counter, shook hands with the shop owner with a slightly unfamiliar movement, as if he had never shaken hands with anyone before, and he said: " We talked on the phone and you know why I’m here.”

"Oh, of course." The shop owner walked around the counter, smiled and led the old man to the bookshelf area in the back row: "It's not every day that I meet a collector with such taste as you, and at the same time, you are so generous. I always Awaiting your visit.”

There is some smell of ink in the bookstore, but used bookstores are different from libraries. The most common smell here is the weird smell of moldy paper.

A used bookstore is essentially more like an antique store. The only difference is that the collections are just various books and the business is reselling cultural relics.

"Oh, thank you so much. The nights in Los Angeles are not so peaceful." The old man followed the shop owner with his hands behind his back, looking at the books on the bookshelves on both sides of the aisle like an ordinary customer.

They are all of little value, at least ordinary ancient literary books are of no use to him.

"Do you also know those things? Yes, you do have a deep study of fantasy literature." The shop owner rubbed his belly. After he asked the question, he seemed to think of something, answered himself, and talked again with a smile. He talked about what’s going on in the city: “They all say that Los Angeles is a halfway house between hell and earth, and that demons will walk the streets at night and eat people’s souls like jelly, but I have lived here for sixty years. , I’ve never seen any demons or ghosts.”

The shopkeeper stopped. At this time, the two of them were at the deepest part of the shop. There was a safe here. He opened it and took out a wooden box inside. It looked very old at first glance. The patina on it was shiny. It seems like someone is playing with it all the time.

"Well, maybe that's just a legend. Is this what I want?"

The old man stopped talking about angels and devils. He was not interested in those, because God was dead and there was nothing to pay attention to about rootless duckweeds.