Werewolf hunting rules

"Clara also wants to go home. It is a beautiful white house with a yellow flower on the windowsill. Clara can draw pictures on the walls, but her mother never praises Clara. Clara is obviously better at drawing than her brother. better."

Clara was chattering in the birdcage, and Clayton ignored her.

Because he was holding the birdcage in his mouth, rolled up his sleeves, and used the strength of both hands to grab the bumps on the wall and climb up.

If the location he chose was not quite remote, this behavior would have been stopped.

It's daytime now, and the werewolf's ability to transform is limited, but it can still be done to make nails sharper and stronger. Climbing walls is more convenient than using simple human fingers.

After some effort, Clayton stood on the roof.

He was almost ten feet above the ground and could have an unobstructed view of all the scenery in the White Dove Square.

But at this altitude, the sun's rays are also stronger.

Clayton will not give up easily. Although the Salvation Army people are already here, he cannot trust these guys with weak will and weird temperament.

He followed the route identified by Clara on the connected rooftops, and soon found a shabby-looking house in the corner of the dead end behind the square. Judging from the windows, it was about three stories tall, and its appearance matched Clara's description of her home. .

White is white enough, at least as white as bird poop.

But the walls are pitted, which may be related to the increased acidity of rainwater that has absorbed industrial waste gas.

There is a row of flower pots on the edge of the protruding balcony on the second floor, about seven in total.

The reason why I say it is approximate is because they were broken into half, leaving only some fragments, the base and the soil between the railings, and the base of some flower pots was still covered with soil.

There is a huge garbage dump next to the house, but fortunately the weather is getting colder and the smell here is not too bad.

"Is that Clara's house?"

Since no one would see it from a high place, Clayton simply removed the gauze on the birdcage to let Clara see more clearly.

Clara's mouth opened wide and her eyes seemed dead.

She had never been so desperate when Clayton chopped off her head.

Clayton comforted her: "It has been many years. If no one takes care of it, the house will become like this."

"Clara doesn't want to go home. Clayton should take Clara back to his home."

"Then you can stay on the roof and I'll go in by myself."

"Then Clara should accompany Clayton."

Clayton couldn't understand her thoughts. He ran between the slopes of the roof with the bird cage, came to the top of Clara's house, jumped easily, landed on the balcony, and then opened the door to enter.

The dust here is no less than that of Mani's old house.

Clayton suddenly thought of a question.

Clara said that she has a mother, but she is a spider, and the spider's mother should also be a spider.

As for the title "Spider Priest", he was not sure about this idea, because the IQ of the insect hybrid should not be enough to deserve such a title.

Who would let Clara preach to them?

"What does Clara's mother look like?" He looked at the bedroom behind the balcony. There were very few personal belongings that could identify the owner.

Opening the closet, there are men's and women's clothes in different sizes.

This is not like a personal bedroom, but like a warehouse for clothes.

"Clara's mother is Sasha's most--beautiful woman."

Clara said proudly from inside the cage.

"Is she a spider too?"

When Clayton asked this question, Clara's expression looked like she was looking at a monster: "Does Clayton think spiders are beautiful?"

Clayton paused for a moment. He felt that the person in the world who could least use common sense to accuse him was Clara.

"If you just look at your face, I think you're actually fine."

"not good at all!"

Clayton couldn't figure out what the fool was thinking, so he decided not to talk about this topic with Clara, but to focus on exploring the house.

Clara's house is strange.

Some of its designs don't seem to be for families, and some modifications have been made to resemble a prison.

There are many bedrooms here, but each door has a window and a number.

Clayton walked into one of the rooms at random and found that it was very small, with a bed taking up one-third of the space. There were some crude handmade toys on the floor and small-sized clothing on the bed.

He closed the door inside and tried, but found he couldn't lock it from the inside.

The same goes for the next door, which also has fairy tale books, some crayons and pictures.

During this process, he did not speak to Clara, but Clara quickly changed her mind and made peace with him again.

The indoors are no better than the outdoors. Although there are mold in many places, the shape has not changed.

The warm feeling was conveyed to Clara's heart just by looking at her.

This is her home, and Clayton is her guest. Just thinking about this made Clara feel excited.

She is an adult too!

She exclaimed excitedly as Clayton advanced down the hallway.

"This is Andrew's room, he's the fastest runner but bad at drawing. This is Goshek's room, he likes to dance, and this is Luna's room. Clayton, don't walk so fast, Clara didn’t have time to introduce!”

Contrary to Clara's feelings, Clayton was becoming increasingly uncomfortable in this place.

Except for the first room, all the other bedrooms seem to be prepared for children, but not too carefully.

Everything is in perfect order.

The house was so tidy that he didn't find any items belonging to the children outside the bedroom.

Even if there are rules for tidying up, there should be some omissions here, such as a doll or a ribbon left under the table and chair.

But there is none of these, it is as if they can only live in their own bedroom.

Only in those rooms were traces of their humanity left.

Clayton seemed to see a closed prison. Under the oppression, the seeds of innocence were growing.

He entered another room and saw bloody scratches on the wooden floor. The scratches were spaced very small, and there were five in number.

This immediately attracted his attention.

Clayton crouched down and studied the marks around the ground.

There were scratches not only on the ground, but also on the wall on the right side by the door.

"This is Haun's room. He is good at singing." Clara introduced him.

"Is there a child in every room?"

"Yes."

"Where have they gone?"

Clara's face still looked innocent, but Clayton could no longer look at her the way he had before.

"Unbeknownst to Clara, they disappeared after the dedication."

"Devotion? Is that painful?"

Clayton knelt down on one knee and picked up a small piece of broken nail from the bottom of the bed. The blood on it had turned into withered black.

He looked at it carefully, his questioning voice cold and cruel.

Clara did not notice this change: "Well, it hurts to give, but it is mother's request. If we don't give, we will not be able to enter the kingdom of heaven. In that case, we will not be able to be together after death."

Clayton stuffed his nails into his pockets and stood up.

"I want to see Clara's room."

"Clara's room is 211."

Clayton returned to the hallway and descended the stairs, counting all the way to Clara's room.

He stopped at the door and thought for a few seconds before turning the handle and pushing the door open.

Just like other rooms, the layout inside is not surprising. The quilt on the bed is well folded, but there are some graffiti on the walls, showing that the children here have an unusual spirit.

Walking a few steps further inside, Clayton saw a small white dress lying on the ground, matching the body shape of a seven or eight-year-old child. It seemed to have fallen from the bed. It was already covered with dust, and the outline of a pair of scattered leather shoes was faintly visible underneath.

Clara cheered in the birdcage: "It's still there! Clayton, Clara's dress is still there! Can you take it back?"

She didn't seem to notice that she could no longer put on the skirt, nor did she think that Clayton had no obligation to take her back to his home.

Clayton didn't answer. He covered his forehead with one hand and felt a severe headache again.

It was still daytime, but he felt the werewolf's blood rushing faster in his veins. The intensity could only be compared to the full moon night when he awakened.

Something inside my head roared furiously.

His tawny eyes trembled in their sockets, and the whites were covered with blood.

The wolf hair stabbed out from the back of his hand as he exerted force on his palm unconsciously, and there was a burning sensation in the sterling silver birdcage in his left hand.

Clayton reflexively swung the birdcage onto the bed, then took out the special medicine wrapped in paper from his pocket and took one.

The boiling blood subsided slightly as the pill slid down your throat.

Clayton returned to his normal state, glanced at the burn marks on his left hand that were fading at a speed visible to the naked eye, and suddenly came up with the idea of ​​releasing Clara from the sterling silver birdcage. This idea would never have come up before. .

But now was not the time, he knew it.

"What is Clayton thinking?"

As expected, Clara was angry again, as would anyone who was thrown around in a cage.

Clayton held up the birdcage and said seriously: "Clayton is thinking that Clara is a good child, and Clara's mother should learn from Clara."

Clara beamed again.

The lieutenant still lifted the birdcage to his left hand, thinking that if Clara's mother was still alive, he would chop off her head too.

It is also unknown whether dark descendants who are not possessed by demons are still immortal.