Why is his holy light red?

Chapter 87 Victim Portrait

Inside the Hero Association's isolation room, Mercury leaned back in his chair, turning the small pink hourglass that Mother of Life had given him between his fingers.

The crimson holy light peeled away from his fingertips, like a few extremely fine blood vessels, gently seeping into the thin glass tube.

The question given by Mother Life is clear: make the fine sand in the hourglass defy gravity and flow back to the top.

But he has tried more than ten times without any progress.

The red holy light he emits has always worked through a mechanism of "healing"—using the energy of the holy light to stimulate cells to repair themselves and accelerate the healing of wounds.

However, the therapeutic effect is not due to telekinesis; it cannot capture those fine grains of sand and make them flow backward.

What's even more troublesome is that the glass walls of this hourglass are as thin as paper; if the force is even slightly out of control, it will definitely shatter into a pile of glass shards on the spot.

Developing precise telekinesis from scratch would likely take a very long time.

Based on Mercury's exploration of this power within him over the years, the Holy Light is essentially a kind of "idealistic power"—theoretically, it can come true as long as you dare to imagine it. However, this mechanism has a fatal flaw: the more abstract the self-image, the less imaginative the mind, and the less effective the Holy Light will be.

That's why he prioritized maxing out defense and damage resistance.

Because the pain of being hit is the most direct and clear feeling. In order to train his resistance to high temperatures, he once pressed his palm against a burning candle and counted the seconds, watching his skin and flesh carbonize; in order to train his resistance to electric shocks, he disassembled the piezoelectric ceramic of a lighter and frantically generated electricity in his fingers. After he could withstand it, he would connect several batteries in parallel to shock himself, gradually increasing the intensity.

His healing abilities were forged through countless cycles of tearing flesh and rebuilding bones.

The reason why his healing abilities can be projected outwards is because when Mercury heals himself, he also places his hand on the wound.

This action is like a reinforcing suggestion, making his abilities more fluid and efficient.

Over time, this healing effect can be applied to other people.

Over the past few years, he has spent most of his time on this self-torturing training, never daring to relax for a single day.

This is why Mercury's defenses are virtually indestructible; even when hit by a barrage of armor-piercing bullets at close range, it didn't break the skin.

But compared to that, the invisible and intangible supernatural concept of telekinesis was too vague and ethereal for him. Without real physiological feedback as an anchor point, simply sitting still and fantasizing would hardly elicit any response from the holy light.

After trying it for a few days without much success, Mercury chose a training method that was easier to achieve results and put aside the completely uninformed concept of telekinesis.

Does this mean we have to start practicing from scratch now?

Mercury sensed something was amiss. The Mother of Life shouldn't be training him in telekinesis; there must be another method to reverse the flow of the hourglass, though he hadn't figured it out yet.

Just as he was staring at the small amount of powder at the bottom of the hourglass in deep thought, the transparent cell phone lying on the table suddenly vibrated.

The screen lit up, and the caller ID showed his elderly father, Al, who should have been running errands.

Mercury's expression stiffened slightly, a sense of unease creeping over him.

Only twenty minutes have passed since he asked El for help. In that short time, El's broken Pikachu hasn't even left the root area, so it's impossible for it to have reached the association building.

In other words, something unexpected has likely happened.

Mercury quickly swiped to answer the call. After a brief shake, the image froze on Al's tense face.

"Dad, what happened?" Mercury asked in a deep voice.

El didn't answer immediately. Instead, he took two steps back and lowered his voice: "There's been a problem with the evidence at the church. The box fell to the ground—and the contents rolled out, which Flora happened to see."

As he spoke, Al turned the phone camera in a different direction.

On the screen, Flora is huddled on a bench in the first row.

The girl was frozen stiff, her body huddled up, holding a disposable paper cup in both hands. Mercury could see clear teeth marks on the edge of the cup, indicating that Flora was clearly in a very tense state.

Noticing the camera, Flora forced herself to lift her head and tried to force a smile at Mercury on the screen, but her eyes still held an inescapable fear.

"Just an accidental slip?" Mercury's eyes instantly turned cold.

An accident at this critical juncture? He simply couldn't believe such a low-level coincidence. It was as if an unseen hand, or some kind of special power, was secretly timing the event to forcibly create panic.

Al cut the camera back to his own face and explained in a low voice, "Sister Maria said she didn't let go at all; the thing in the box 'spontaneously' broke open the rusty lock and fell out. And—the thing inside is really strange."

"What kind of strange method is it?" Mercury pressed.

"The 'Ogre Nightmare' is a cold case from thirty years ago, right?" El's tone became serious. "Logically speaking, that human skin mask should have dried up into a piece of weathered old tree bark by now. But the thing that just fell on the ground—its flesh was still soft."

"The pores, texture, and even the blood seeping from the seams are all clearly visible. It looks like it was just freshly peeled off a living person's face."

Mercury's fingers tightened suddenly as he gripped the hourglass.

"It's not just the mask." Al switched the camera to a rear view, sweeping a distant view of the objects lying on the ground. "That murder diary too. It's clearly one of those rough, old-fashioned styles from thirty years ago, but the cover hasn't aged at all, and the pages don't show a single sign of yellowing or brittleness. I glanced at the contents, and the ink hadn't faded at all; it looked like it was just written recently."

It's a 30-year-old antique, but it feels like freshly peeled human skin to the touch.

Mercury frowned and thought for a moment, guessing that this might be a very vicious trap.

The new generation of "nightmare" may have already figured out Sister Maria's background, and even knew that the original artifacts were hidden in the church's basement. So, the monster silently sneaked in and replaced the decades-old items with its freshly prepared flesh and blood.

As long as someone tries to trace the clues to investigate a 30-year-old cold case, they will eventually come to Sister Maria. And when the investigators eagerly pry open that dusty box of evidence, they will see this bizarre and bloody new stuff. At that moment, they will definitely be frightened by the strong visual impact and sense of incongruity. This terrifying scene can definitely instill fear in any normal person.

If even a trace of fear arises in one's heart, and one's mental defenses are breached, then one will be targeted by this newly born nightmare. Next, one will be dragged into the dream world by that monster and devoured alive.

That's a really clever and ingenious method.

Mercury thought for a moment, then said to Al, "Dad, cut the camera to that mask and the diary."

Without a second thought, El on the other end of the screen refused: "Absolutely not. This thing has strong mental pollution properties. What if you get infected just by looking at it through the screen?"

"The key to the nightmare curse is fear." Mercury's tone was full of confidence. "As long as I don't feel fear, this mental invasion curse mechanism is useless to me. Dad, think back, when have I ever blinked twice while watching horror movies since I was a child? A piece of freshly peeled dead skin and a few lines of bloody words can't possibly evoke fear in me."

Mercury had been double-crossing people for quite some time, so killing was not a difficult task for him.

A gunshot to the head, a punch to the head—no amount of cruelty or gore could move him. A human skin mask alone wouldn't have any effect on Mercury.

He just wanted to see for himself to confirm whether his guess was correct.

After thinking about it, El realized that Mercury was right.

This child is indeed naturally calmer than other children; I've hardly ever heard him cry, even when he was little.

"Then be careful and don't overexert yourself." El sighed, slightly turning his wrist to slowly point the phone camera at the broken wooden box on the ground.

The dim light from the basement shone on the bottom of the box, and the mask, roughly stitched together from human skin, instantly filled the entire screen.

Mercury stared at the screen, not even blinking. What would be a terrifying shock to an ordinary person was, in his eyes, nothing more than a poorly made work of art.

He even examined the uneven cuts closely, clearly indicating that this cannibalistic nightmare was not very skilled with a knife; many of the cuts were messy and even showed signs of being forcibly torn off.

However, El is right.

Some of the uneven cuts still had dark red blood vessels that hadn't fully oxidized, glistening with a nauseatingly moist sheen under the dim light; this flesh must have been cut off just a few days ago.

"Dad, just find a stick and open that diary for me to see."

Al took out a fountain pen, carefully peeled back the black cover, and turned the pages one by one.

The pages were densely covered with a record of the murders, filled with a mad, insane account, interspersed with numerous hand-drawn, gory sketches. What was chilling was the killer's exceptionally solid drawing skills. The victims' faces contorted with extreme fear before their deaths, the muscle texture torn apart by sharp blades—all were depicted with remarkable realism, every line conveying the artist's morbid fanaticism.

Mercury watched the screen, his brows furrowing more and more.

If this is a forgery created by a new generation of nightmare demons to switch the real thing with the fake, then the question arises: could this copycat not only perfectly inherit the murder methods of his predecessor, but also happen to be a perverted artist proficient in classical sketching, just like the monster from thirty years ago? The possibility of that is far too low.

The pen turned to a new page again, accompanied by the rustling sound of the paper turning.

"Wait!" Mercury jerked upright in his chair, his voice rising abruptly. "Go back! Turn to the previous page!"

El's hand trembled violently, his heart nearly stopping. His first thought was that his son had finally been mentally corrupted by this evil thing.

He immediately looked up at the screen, only to find that Mercury showed no signs of panic or loss of control. Instead, he stared intently at the camera with a sharp gaze that seemed to want to devour someone.

Al quickly used the iron pipe to push the paper back.

The camera focused for two seconds, and the image became clear again.

This time, without Mercury saying a word, El also gasped.

In the very center of the page, a portrait sketch was drawn neatly. The lines were delicate, the shading precise, and the style was exactly the same as the previous bloody and gory drawings.

What truly sends chills down your spine is the incredibly lifelike face in the painting, which looks exactly like John.

John Walker, the lawyer, accountant, cook, and logistics staff of Mercury's team—is actually one of the victims of the cannibalistic succubus more than 30 years ago.

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