Super Trick or Treat System

…"Finally, my king lay in front of me." Hell priest exclaimed. He was talking with Maisha, and Maisha was standing in the vestibule at the bottom of Lucifer Tower, beside the demon soldiers. "Nothing will be the same again," the **** priest said to the soldier, "your duty is to wait here until you get the opposite instructions."

"Yes, my master." They spoke in unison, with tremors in their voices.

The acolyte turned to face them. Like everything else in the luxurious cathedral, the door in front of him is richly decorated. A craftsman carved hundreds of lines of hieroglyphs on wood, the meaning of which is beyond the understanding of the acolyte.

He has been educated in all languages, even semiotics education of creatures that hardly work in the non-material world, far less than solid creatures. However, a short scan of these small characters is enough to confirm that the language he used before is a language he has never seen before. This lesson is very simple. No matter how knowledgeable he is, he may be ready to meet with God's favorite angel and will never be fully prepared, or have any other preparations. The abstract content of all libraries in history is not enough to deal with the upcoming encounter.

The cervical spine exhales gently, with a humble expression on his face. This is completely different from his face. He is not a creature that yields to the world. But over the years, he heard countless stories about raising the devil's anger. He will not make that mistake. not now.

The face was fixed, he held the handle and turned it. The door reacted without opening immediately. The blinking characters move back and forth along tiny lines. The glyphs burned briefly here and there, as if they were on fire. The **** priest guessed that there are some codes at work here, sacrificing some letters for the flame chosen for a certain purpose, which is beyond his understanding. The scanning of the line continued to the bottom of the door, and then suddenly stopped.

The **** priest waited, concealing his impatience. Seconds passed and became minutes. The door did not move. Hell priests are rarely lost by words or actions, but he is lost at the moment. The phantoms of the events that brought him to this place and time surfaced in his mind, gathered in the scattered splendor: the magicians were in the attic or the hut, and everyone spit them out with the hook of the acolyte, cursing Against them. Meat and curved bones go against the intention of nature. Except for a handful of people, everyone else gave up their secrets and quickly asked them to obey.

He also saw the pages stained with yellow light on all the rarest magic books: those that contained curses, exiles, laws, hierarchy, and incidents, those that he had unforgettable, and those that he had done with them. Has been entrusted to the furnace so that he can be the sole owner of the knowledge contained in it.

Moreover, at all times, whether it is killing, consuming or advancing, he has been cultivating a vision that when he has learned all that needs to be learned and is ready to meet the fallen, he will serve himself great. Here, he is ready, full of knowledge and ambition, immersed in murder from scalp to feet, but the door cannot be opened.

He was angry, he raised his hand and made this sound unknowingly. The sound was the death cries of all the victims, so he might be here. The raised hand closed the fist, and the fist fell on the intricate, incomprehensible door, pushing them behind them with the endless force of knowledge. The sound they made when they knocked on the door was not the sound of meat on wood. It was the sound of an earthquake, cracks in the walls and floor cracked, and marble slabs fell from the ceiling. The guards did not disobey their master's instructions. They stood firm and boldly attacked and destroyed the fallen marble that could cause harm to them or their blind cargo.

"What happened?" Mai Xia wanted to know.

Before any soldier could respond, the fist of the **** priest fell on the door for the second time, and the violent blow intensified the former's damage. There is a fissure in the yard or larger ground, from next to the sealed door to the steps past the secret room, and then gradually rises from one wall to the other. The **** priest did not look back to assess the damage he caused. The door still laughed at him. He paused for a while to examine the wood carefully, looking for the slightest scratch or crack to show that his attack was working. The **** door was unscathed.

Then, he put his shoulders on it, and the entire anatomy was inflated by the riot of anger inside. His office robe became stiff and fragile due to the splash of blood scattered in countless rooms. In these rooms, he was tempted and tortured, split everywhere, the robe was cross-entangled by his own flesh, and the anger was now torn apart. The new wound, bleeding reduced his coat.

He reached into the small nail, but the blood was not flowing fast enough to adapt to the angry state, so he tore his chest, where his muscles were permanently peeled and he couldn't heal due to the fine abrasions on the surface . He went to the chronic wounds with a disfigured expression, and tore off his coat, so that his chest was completely exposed, where his pulse was beating openly, as if eagerly to please himself. Then, he tore off the pieces of leather and paper towels hanging from the belt and chose two short knives (the tools he likes to do private work for particularly provocative people). For the first time in his history, he turned them around Use the hook blade to flick open the veins and straight veins by yourself, just pierce the muscles and bones, then pull the blade upwards, and then stab yourself again. The blood jumped from him. While his veins were still gushing, he raised his scarlet fists, like the first time, and slammed them against the door. The blood began a very new rapid scan of the new hieroglyphic lines. Each of them seems to be combustible.

However, the Hell Priest did not study the reaction to his attack. In anger, he continued to hit the tattoo on the door, his hands slammed from the wood, over and over again, the blood spurting from his chest grabbed his hand. Then, the sound rang, and a thousand ball bearings were immediately activated.

He stopped suddenly, and for the first time saw the fiery glyphs in front of him moving, turning them over and over again, and the fire became brighter with every turn. He lowered his head and noticed that the blood around his feet was also moving. In at least a dozen places, the blood formed separate streams, which flowed toward the door without obeying gravity. Starting from the lower right corner, following the incomprehensible text from right to left, the glyphs engraved on the door are briefly scorched and then consumed over and over again until they cover a line again from right to left and then again. The rate of consumption has increased. The third line burns twice as fast as the first line, and the sixth line consumes twice as fast as the third line.

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