American Horror Story: A Tale of Terror from Silent Hill

Chapter 111 Mowing the Grass
Baling did intend to do so.

However, in this dream, Baling felt Michael's unwillingness before his death again.

Or maybe he actually had something to say.

Of course, it’s not about having something to say in the physical sense, but on another level, it’s about speaking from the soul.

He revealed his intentions.

——I can offer my soul and give everything I have, but I hope you can help me.

"Help you? Although the conditions are tempting, what's yours is mine. You're using my things to negotiate with me. Are you doing something wrong?"

Baling is a smart man and he has a clear understanding of the interests of his own party.

"You said that if I swallow it forcefully, the abilities I gain will be incomplete?"

is it?

Baling pondered for a while, thinking of Jason who was still in hell. He didn't know whether he had been reincarnated or was fighting tenaciously in the resurrection match.

However, it seems that what Michael said makes a little sense.

After Baling refined Jason in an instant, he did gain powerful resurrection and bone manipulation abilities, but he failed to plunder them when Jason flashed away.

Could it be that this is where the problem lies?
If it is true, then what Michael said makes sense.

Never mind, it’s just fish on the chopping board. What’s the harm in listening and taking a look?
"Tell me about it? I'll consider it."

Baling did not agree immediately, but did not refuse directly either.

Then, in the dream, a memory hidden deep in Michael's soul slowly unfolded, and Baling watched Michael's experiences over the years as if watching a movie.

a long time.

Baling understood.

He understood the hatred in Michael's heart. What happened to Michael was both an evil curse and a tragic experiment.

In order to study evil and master extraordinary powers, some believers hidden in a mental hospital selected young Michael and performed an evil ritual on him.

From then on, Michael began his tragic and numb career as a murderer.

Damn it! It’s those evil cultists who have done so many bad things again!

Yeah! I don't want money but I will beat you to pieces!
Of course, compensation still has to be collected; this is a matter of principle.

"I agreed."

In order to avoid any further complications, Baling set off overnight and rushed to the mental hospital where Michael had been.

The next night.

The Book of Ghost Stories, start!
The frantic straw grew and deformed, and Baling broke out of the cocoon.

At this moment, his body was exactly the same as Michael's, except that he had no flesh and blood inside and wore Michael's favorite white hood.

Tonight will be the last time Michael's image appears.

After Baling agreed to avenge Michael, his soul actively gave up resistance and dissipated bit by bit until the revenge was completed.

The digestion of the soul has begun. Baling senses that new abilities are emerging on their own, and a whole new perspective has opened up.

Easily pry open the door lock and enter the hospital through the back door.

In the long white corridor, Baling could sense an unusual aura hidden underground.

Michael has been a mental patient here for many years.

Baling had seen his experience, and with his guidance in his body, he naturally found the culprit's room easily - the dean's office.

I entered the office and it was empty.

"Gone? Or not working. That's right, he's already the dean, so why would he stay in the hospital every day, especially at night? He must have retired to the third line long ago."

Baling walked out of the room, ready to kill those evil believers one by one. After all, they were living in the world just to make rice expensive, so it would be better for them to die early under his knife.

After turning a corner, Baling suddenly stopped. Standing in front of him were dozens of black-robed believers, led by the old dean whom Michael had been thinking about, and the leader of the believers.

When I turned around, there were also dozens of believers.

The believers in front and behind were all full of martial virtues and were armed with various firearms.

The old dean looked at Baling, mistaking him for Michael, and said:

"Michael, I'm glad you're back. But what are you doing so late at night? I remember the order I gave you was to kill your blood relatives, not to point the knife at your master."

"You old dog, get ready to go to hell." Baling was too lazy to indulge him and was ready to have a big fight.

呲呲!

The white lights in the white corridor flickered on and off, as if there was a bad connection.

The next second, screams sounded.

A dagger was inserted into the chest of an unlucky cultist, and blood gushed out uncontrollably.

"Control him." The old dean was shocked and quickly gave the order to shoot.

Bang bang bang!
The muzzle flame lit up, and the bullet cut through the air and shot towards Baling's body.

呲呲!

The lights went out, and the bullet pierced through the air, mercilessly hitting the teammate amidst a shrill cry of pain.

"How is this possible!" the old dean exclaimed. He knew that Michael was elusive when he killed people, but that was in secret, not in public.

No! It's the light!

The old dean suddenly understood something. He frowned and wanted to retreat behind the crowd and slip away first. He would teach Michael a lesson when he moved to a place with bright vision.

The pale light in the corridor kept flickering on and off.

And with every change, Baling's figure will change, and at the same time, a life will be taken away at random.

Is this the flash that a killer needs?

Baling also had a great time tonight.

The moment when there is no sight or when you are in complete shadow, that is the time of concealment.

By following the vague space cracks, you can achieve short-distance flashing.

Before, Michael had used this trick to sneak away and hide many times while lying dead.

Moreover, it is also very useful when attacking or escaping.

Such as now.

Baling transformed into a ghost, appearing and disappearing, and his dagger pierced through flowers of blood.

The severed fingers and limbs were like discarded garbage, thrown casually in the white corridor.

The gushing hot blood washed over the ceiling again and again.

With a thrust of his finger bone, he pierced through the cultist's hood and went straight into his skull. Baling threw it away, and the brain matter flew into the eyes of the cultist next to him.

"Ah! My eyes!" Before he could finish, a fist quickly enlarged, and the terrifying force punched his crown, and then he fell down powerlessly.

The sharp five fingers hooked through the flesh and pulled out the white spine. With a sweep, the waists of several believers were broken in an instant, and their smelly organs exploded on the ground.

In less than half a minute, the originally white corridor had become ten times bloodier than a slaughterhouse.

The old dean watched in horror as the believers fell one by one, and most of them were killed without a complete body. The murderer, Baling, was as easy as mowing the grass, smearing all the blood with a casual touch.

"You...you...are not Michael...spare my life, I...can give you great power...please, I don't want to die!"

At this time, the old dean finally realized that Baling was definitely not Michael, because Michael was far from being so powerful.

(End of this chapter)