American comics: Starting with replicating Superman's talent

Chapter 351 Stealing God's Authority

This is a detention cell that is neither too big nor too small.

The image of the crucified Jesus was hung in the very center outside the prison.

Inside the iron bars sat a man with messy hair.

He had a thick beard and a颓废 (颓废 is a difficult word to translate directly, but it implies a sense of listlessness, decade

The strong smell of smoke and alcohol mixed on his body made him smell like salted fish that had been pickled for a long time. I wonder how long it had been since this guy had taken a bath.

Not far from him sat a rather thin man with a pale face, but his eyes kept glancing at the man, as if he was very curious about him.

"I'm not gay. If you look at me again, I'll gouge your eyes out."

The man rolled his eyes, speechless.

But the thin, white man standing to the side was also good-natured, and simply said with a grin, "No, I'm just curious."

He pointed to the black preaching robes the other person was wearing, a typical pastor's outfit, the kind where a believer in God doesn't smoke or drink.

But this guy was different from the other priests; you could tell from the black calluses on his hands that he smoked a lot.

Moreover, he reeked of alcohol.

Simply put, this guy smokes and drinks in private.

"What do I do? It's none of your business."

Jesse pointed his middle finger at the skinny man, and then a sheriff walked in and opened the cell door for him: "You can leave now, Jesse, but don't be so impulsive and break someone's bones next time."

"understood."

Jesse tossed aside his cigarette butt, waved goodbye to the sheriff.

Back in the church where he lived, Jesse sat in a seat at the foot of the cross, lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and squinted contentedly.

It was late at night, and the night wind blew into the church through the open windows, causing some loose wooden planks to creak and groan.

But Jesse, who was already familiar with all of this, remained oblivious.

He doesn't believe in ghosts or gods.

but.

Splash, splash.

It was like dense waves crashing against the rocks; just listening to the sound, it seemed as if something was rapidly approaching.

"What the hell?"

Jesse uttered a phrase from the American national treasure, pressed his knees, and slowly stood up, pulling a pistol from under his robe.

In free America, you can live without money, but you can live without a gun.

Most people's thinking is actually very simple: if he has a gun, then I must have one too.

After a while, everyone has their own, and then no one is willing to back down, which can easily lead to conflict.

With that thought in mind, Jesse turned around and saw something that seemed to be transparent, with a vague outline, rapidly approaching him.

"What is that?!"

That thing had no facial features, only a humanoid outline, and looked eerie and terrifying.

It moves at an extremely fast speed, and every time it moves, it makes a "whooshing" sound as it moves around the tables and chairs.

"Damn it."

Faced with this supernatural situation, Jesse did not hesitate at all; he didn't even release the safety before pulling the trigger.

Bang bang bang!

Three muffled gunshots rang out, followed by three whistling bullets.

The weapon, which could easily take lives since its invention, seemed to strike the air as if it were a phantom, slicing through the air and landing on the church wall, scattering cement everywhere.

Then, almost before Jesse could react, the transparent object slammed into the man's chest.

"vomit!"

An indescribable feeling coursed through her body; the nausea and vomiting made Jesse squat on the ground, as if she wanted to vomit something.

But he was just dry heaving, and at the same time, he was questioning the meaning of life.

No, do gods and ghosts really exist?

But how is that possible?

Before he could even think it through, an even stronger wave of dizziness made him roll his eyes and faint inside the church.

The next morning, Jesse was awakened by the noisy chirping of birds outside her window.

He lived in a remote town, free from industrial pollution, and the town's greenery was quite well maintained.

"Ugh, how long did I sleep?"

As she thought about it, Jesse stood up and looked at herself, still wearing that dirty missionary robe.

The man didn't care much; he casually patted his clothes and walked out of the church.

He hadn't gone far when an old man came up to him in a panic.

"Father Jesse, I'm sorry to bother you so early, but I had a fight with my mother yesterday, and I wanted to ask you how I can get her to forgive me. I didn't mean to argue with her."

The man who came for consultation was a bald, middle-aged white man. He looked at the priest, who reeked of alcohol, with some nervousness, wondering if the priest was reliable.

But most Americans believe in Jesus, so the man decided to believe anyway.

"Oh, so you had a fight with your mother?" Jesse rubbed his messy hair, still wondering whether the strange thing he saw last night was real or just a hallucination caused by drinking too much.

So Jesse said somewhat perfunctorily, "If you want to seek your mother's forgiveness, be brave, open your heart, and tell her how sorry you are."

To be honest, Jesse became a pastor just to pass the time and earn a little extra money on the side.

He has no interest in helping people solve their problems or guiding their future.

After all, how can someone who has made a mess of their own future have the right to guide others?

Just get by.

"Okay, okay."

As he listened to Jesse's words, the man's expression gradually changed from guilt to numbness, as if the other person's words were a decree from God. Without looking back, he turned around and ran towards home.

"Sigh, I'm such a good person." Jesse shook his head with some emotion, no longer caring about the man's affairs, and turned to continue walking.

Meanwhile, the bald man quickly ran back to his farm.

"Mother!" He pushed open the door and saw his elderly mother sitting on the sofa eating a sandwich.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Mother."

The man slowly walked to his mother's side, then squatted down and picked up the fruit knife from the coffee table.

"Pfft!"

There was no time for the old woman in the floral dress to react; the maple leaf blade instantly sliced ​​through his organs and chest.

Fresh blood gushed out from the veins, splattering like bursting tomato juice across every corner of the living room.

This brutal and bloody scene also terrified the old woman, causing her to scream in horror.

"Oh, Paul!"

She yelled and reached out to grab her son's arm, but to no avail; the man simply stepped back and dodged his mother's grasp.

Then, under the woman's distraught gaze, he slowly escaped his pounding heart: "I followed the priest's advice and had a heart-to-heart talk with you."

These words seemed to have exhausted his last strength; the man's eyes rolled back and he collapsed to the ground, leaving behind only a terrified old woman screaming incessantly.

She had no idea what was happening, and fear spread through her heart.

(End of this chapter)