Vol·15 [Highway to Hell]

--To my dear old friend: Jack Martin

The Safe Word I've set for you is "[Jack Has Come To]", which I've personally written down and you've personally witnessed, without missing a single letter or punctuation mark, to complete this ritual and awaken you from your delusional state.

If you've just woken up, there are probably still many things you don't understand or comprehend.

I will briefly tell you the story of what has happened over the years, and why I did this.

In November 1888, when the cold was biting, I was discussing the recent topic of [Jack the Ripper] with the newspaper. I didn't know that the murderer was you—so out of curiosity, I came to London from the old site in Edinburgh to gather information, and eventually found you by following the clues.

You were disheartened at the time and told me about Wen Bucai family affairs.

You tore his home apart, killed his wife and daughters, turned his savior into a mad, walking corpse, and ultimately lost this good friend.

I can sense your intense self-reproach and the overwhelming pressure of your Inspiration, and the strong self-destructive urge emanating from your trembling, weeping body—so I will use my spiritual power to heal you.

I have written six characters for you. These six characters are all fictional and have no real-life counterparts. You will become the protagonist of the story and live according to the attributes of these protagonists.

I believe that time, like a great healer, can heal you, and it can also heal my Wen Bucai.

At that time, I had no idea that we had become [[Outlaw]], immortal monsters—in chronological order, you should now be called Winston Spencer.

When I was creating these characters, I never imagined you would live to be over 160 years old.

This character is probably the most slovenly and greasy, yet also the most carefree and unrestrained oddball I've ever written.

I hope you have fun during this part of your life, Jack.

But now, you need to wake up--

--My two apprentices went to London to fight against the vampires.

In my opinion, these two young men are still too young and inexperienced to be a match for an old monster who has lived for hundreds of years.

They're so tender they're practically dripping with juice, they need a piece of old, spicy ginger to season them.

You were the first person I thought of.

I only hope you can forgive me for sending you into the story I wove without your consent.

I only hope you can put aside past grievances and help my two apprentices.

One of them was named Jiang Xueming, and the other was named Bu Liuxing; both were Chinese.

If you can protect them and save their lives during this journey, I will be eternally grateful.

I'll have someone order you a new outfit and make you a new gun.

You can tell me directly what you want.

Let's have a drink together after everything is over.

There's another story I want to tell you in detail--

--Stories about the underworld that you know nothing about and have never explored before.

You might not believe it, but thousands of meters below the London Tower, there's a deep underground pit where a train station called Sky Dome Station leads to the vast underground world.

Have a pleasant hunt, Jack.

May you dance with the wind all the way.

--David Victor

"How rare." Jack Martin leaned against a lamppost by the Times building, pulling his hat brim to shield himself from the wind and rain, and read the letter over and over again.

His blood-red eyes held a hint of mockery, and stray golden hairs peeked out from under his hat.

"Professor Victor! You actually humbled yourself and begged me for mercy."

His mouth stretched from the corners of his mouth to the base of his neck, a hearty, exhilarating smile of pure joy.

"More than a hundred years have passed, and it seems that time, like a butcher's knife, has ravaged you beyond recognition—I almost don't recognize you anymore."

His mood was joyful, radiant, and carefree.

He carefully put away the envelope and took out another kill list.

The names on the screen, densely covered with red lines, represent vampires who have been killed, as well as their henchmen.

He was waiting for the last prey to appear.

The Times is one of the three major newspapers in the United Kingdom. In order to distinguish itself from tabloids like RED TOPS, these authoritative official media outlets usually use large black font for their headlines and are the newspapers that seriously deliver the most stringent and serious messages to the United Kingdom citizens.

As the printing industry took off with the Industrial Revolution, the struggle between red and black never ceased.

Jack Martin shook his head and muttered to himself.

"Oh right, you say yours, I'll say mine."

"I'm saying this is true, and that's false."

"Some people like the Queen's corgis and care about the royal dogs."

"Some people want to see love stories from the streets, and they care about the widow's waist."

"Professor Victor, why did you end up giving me this role?"

"It's like running out of ink and having to just fill in whatever's available."

"I'm going crazy! I want to scratch my neck and chest raw! I've suffered for over twenty years, constantly hitting walls in this godforsaken place, my nose is practically flattened from all the banging!"

"--My teachers disliked me when I was a student, my superiors made things difficult for me after I started working, a close friend I had no connection with wanted me to do human trafficking with him, and a couple of years ago when I talked to some elderly people around Downing Street about pandemic prevention, they pointed their fingers at me and called me crazy."

"I was seething with anger, but now it feels like The Count of Monte Cristo is playing out like a wish-fulfillment novel."

"I'm a little confused about whether I'm Winston Spencer, Jack Martin, or maybe George Joseph? Are there any other names?"

"But there's one thing I'm sure of."

"I want to go on a killing spree now."

"Your psychotherapy is remarkably effective, Professor Victor. Just as I've been eagerly awaiting your new book, I now feel a strong hunger within me."

"How many new works have you written in the past hundred years?"

"I"

Before the words were finished, gunshots rang out from the direction of the Times building.

The bullet struck the lamppost, and Jack tensed, ducking behind it.

"Don't you have any sense of public decency? The road administration spent so much money! Just so you can use it as a target? My head's right here! Aim properly!"

A panicked, terrified voice came from the darkness; it was a woman's.

"Winston Spencer? You're Winston Spencer?"

Jack Martin shouted back, "Didn't you even know who you were going to kill before you opened fire? My God! What kind of monster are you?!"

The woman was almost crying with fear, and said in a pitiful voice, "You must be that serial killer. So many people have died in the newspapers these past two days, are you here to take my life?"

Jack glanced at the kill list and casually called out a name.

"Are you Ram?"

"Wrong!"

"Are you Rem?"

No.

"Oh! So you must be Crim!"

"That was a man's name! He's dead. He was the assistant general manager of The Guardian! He died three hours ago!"

Jack pouted, "Then we can cross that name out, sorry."

"No need... no need to be so polite." Only then did the woman realize that this man was indeed the serial killer she had been thinking about.

Jack continued, "Let me think... Oh! You must be Qiao Li! Right?"

There was no sound coming from the dark Times building.

Then came a continuous barrage of gunfire.

A 5.56 rifle bullet struck the lamppost.

Qiao Li crouched by the side window of the first-floor history exhibit hall, her eyes filled with anger, fear, and hatred.

She realized she had been exposed and discovered by this terrifying hunter.

There is no place for her in London anymore; all her past glory and wealth will vanish like a dream.

She worked for Mary, served vampires, and wrote stories for the blood nobles.

In this era, red and black must be mixed together.

Whether it's a red headline or a black headline.

--They're all lying.

As a weekly producer for The Times, she had long since joined the ranks of the blood aristocracy.

She was confident that she could kill this mysterious white dove knight.

This confidence stemmed from the weapon in her hand: the AR-15 rifle, the best-selling rifle in modern society.

She was prepared, unlike other idiots and unlucky guys.

Fortunately, she had prepared herself well in advance and was ready to kill this murderer who was blocking her path to wealth and ruining her life.

Rifle bullets can blast that annoying lamppost to pieces!

Let me see some blood! -- Qiao Li thought to herself.

She was a seasoned fighter, having accompanied Mary on numerous hunts, and was a thorn in the side of the Lapis Lazuli Guards in the underworld.

Thirty rounds of ammunition were used up, but a pre-loaded emergency round remained in the bolt carrier.

She dared not make any movement to reload, only to see the large hat by the streetlight slowly fall down.

"What?"

At that moment, she was utterly shaken, as if she had seen a ghost.

The target vanished—vanished right under her nose.

All that remained was a lone, large windproof cap and a radio.

Jack Martin's merciless mockery came through the radio.

"Modern weapons are really amazing! Are you blinded by the cross-shaped flashes coming from the percussion cap? Want to know where I am, Qiao Li?"

Before she finished speaking, under the warm lights of the exhibition hall, Qiao Li felt a chill run through her body. Her skull seemed to deform and crack due to the intense fear, as if in a stress response, wanting to immediately transform into a bat and escape from this place.

However, once she transforms into bat form, she loses the ability to fire a gun, as her large rat-bat knuckles cannot fit into the trigger guard, and her bulletproof vest and helmet will also lose their protective function.

She had no choice but to bite the bullet, grab her gun, stand up, and use the display case as makeshift cover, preparing to reload—

"--Oh! Oh! I hear the magazine click." Jack Martin was ever-present, his voice like a ghost, surging in from all directions.

Qiao Li's nerves, which had just relaxed, immediately tensed up, and she dared not make any move.

"But I didn't hear the magazine hit the ground. You're hesitating, aren't you? You definitely still have one bullet left—a 5.56 caliber armor-piercing bullet. Even if it just hits the body, the bullet's terrifying tumbling effect will tear a huge hole in the flesh. I handled this kind of weapon at military school."

Qiao Li shouted, "Stop fucking playing tricks!"

Jack: "Isn't it inappropriate for a vampire like you to say these things?"

Qiao Li exclaimed in terror, "I've already called the police! They'll be here soon!"

Jack: "Isn't it inappropriate for a vampire like you to say these things?"

Qiao Li gritted her teeth. "Guess who the police officer will side with? You or me?"

Jack: "That's interesting. According to you, these tax thieves might actually shoot and kill me, a concerned citizen."

Qiao Li was furious. "What exactly do you want? Winston Spencer! Whatever you want! I'll give you anything! You've been keeping me on edge these past few days! I haven't even dared to hire bodyguards to protect myself—we vampires all say that you can disguise yourself, you can hide your spiritual pressure, you're an omnipresent and omnipotent killer, you're Jack the Ripper!"

"Don't say that, it makes me quite sad—the reason I talked to you for so long was to keep your mind constantly alert, so that you, this cold-blooded animal, wouldn't smell my scent or feel my body temperature." Jack paced back and forth beside the display case, without uttering a sound, "Was to keep your mind constantly alert, so that you wouldn't be able to smell me or feel my body temperature."

Qiao Li's pupils narrowed and focused in an instant, her expression shifting from fear and alertness to utter terror in less than half a second.

In the remaining half-second, she could no longer move.

She felt as if she were bound tightly by invisible threads, like a puppet.

Jack spoke frankly, "On the other hand, I'm infamous now, and no gun dealer in the underworld wants to sell me anything—I have to find another way. At this distance, my [Soul Power] is just within reach of you."

Jack's fingertips were connected to a faint steel cable.

Unlike Wen Bucai and Victor, it doesn't even have a complete human form.

With the death and annihilation of the Big Leader, it transformed into the fragmented soul of Jack Martin.

"Qiao Li, a meat saw definitely can't kill you, right? You're wearing a stab-proof vest and a bulletproof vest—you're fully equipped."

With a flick of Jack's finger, Qiao Li's body jerked to the ground as the steel cable pulled her up.

From either side of the display case, a human and a ghost gaze at each other from afar.

At a distance of only twelve meters, aiming and shooting is a piece of cake.

The vampire has a gun, but he can't lift the hand that holds it.

The hunter, however, didn't have a gun, and he still had some silver jewelry he'd gotten from the display case in his pocket.

Qiao Li cursed, "What the hell did you do to me?! Let me go!"

Jack, expressionless, pulled a large pile of artifacts from the counter.

"Look down and take a good look, don't move—my soul power is extremely sharp."

Qiao Li clung tightly to the rifle, lowering her head slightly. She saw that her arms and torso were bound and restrained by a golden rope. In her fierce struggle, the exposed skin on her wrists had already been cut and bled—the vampire's superhuman healing ability almost made her swallow the steel ropes whole.

"Fuck it!" Qiao Li gritted her teeth, drawing anger from the excruciating pain, and from that anger, she regained her resolve and courage. "Fuck it, fuck it!"

"No, no, no! No, no, no! Stop!" Jack's movements became faster and more efficient. As he rummaged through the counter for parts, he pressed the cylinder of the Mark VI revolver against the fuselage of the Colt Python. "I'll be quick! Don't rush!"

With a snap--

--Qiao Li's violent struggles resulted in a broken bone in her arm, followed by a piercing scream.

Unable to break free from the strange ropes, and daring not to change her form, she could only watch as her enemy triumphantly manipulated the antiques, preparing to deliver the final blow with a hundred-year-old junk.

After piecing things together for a long time, Jack finally managed to put the Frankenstein's monster back together.

"I have good news, Qiao Li!"

Qiao Li, looking fierce, yelled, "You motherfucker!"

Jack: "The good news is, I finished the job."

Qiao Li threatened, "You can't kill me! Come on! How many bullets do you have?! When you run out of bullets, I'll turn back into my original form and devour you alive!"

"But the bad news is," Jack casually tossed the Frankenstein's monster aside—this makeshift gun couldn't fire any bullets, not even cardboard bullets, and its accuracy was questionable—"I'm not going to use it—sorry to disappoint you."

"So what's the point of you always apologizing to me?!" Qiao Li was almost going crazy.

Jack immediately changed his expression, from disappointment to a beaming smile, a sinister grin spreading across his face—he pulled out a big treasure from behind his back.

That's a Remington stock, a Winchester barrel, a flintlock trigger mechanism, a smoothbore musket stitched together for any shot.

"Good news, Qiao Li!"

Two rows of bright white teeth radiated confidence and strength in his smile.

Jack's expression twisted in pain; he was almost fainting with joy.

"I'm afraid this kind of antique only has one chance to shine! What am I going to put inside? Can you guess, Qiao Li?"

Qiao Li's expression changed drastically, and almost all of her arrogance vanished in an instant.

As Jack stuffed gunpowder into the muzzle, he took pieces of silver jewelry from the display case and stuffed the broken glass from the counter into it.

"No! No, no, no!" Qiao Li shouted, "No!"

At this distance, a smoothbore shotgun could shred all the exposed limbs of her upper body, including her neck and face, which were unprotected by body armor. No aiming was needed; just raise the gun and fire.

"No, no, no, no! Please! I beg you! Winston! Winston Spencer! You have the name and surname of Prime Minister Churchill! You're a noble man, aren't you?! You wouldn't do such a cruel thing to a woman!"

Jack asked impatiently, "But you said no, what exactly do you mean you don't want?"

Qiao Li immediately shouted, "Stop stuffing any more silver items into the gun barrel! Stop stuffing any more!"

Jack's mind was like a bright light bulb.

"Oh! You're so thoughtful! This amount of propellant will cause the barrel to explode—that's right! I have to thank you!"

Immediately afterwards--

--The hunter raised his gun, and in that instant, it seemed as if a sky full of stars filled the dark muzzle.

"Thank you, little girl!"

Qiao Li felt as if her body had regained its freedom in an instant.

That was the steel cable moving rapidly, easily slicing through the bulletproof vest, even cutting through the bulletproof plates—a moment that Gate of Death.

--A glittering, round pendulum stopped on her forehead.

"Listen! For whom the bell tolls!"

The ancient hunting rifle spewed out flames of gold and silver.

Dark blood was splattered on the dark red door.

The silverware was almost melted by the dragon-like gunfire, tumbling and burning within the shattered bulletproof vest, merging with the vampire's flesh.

With just one shot, Qiao Li turned into a lump of black ash.

From one vampire to a whole bunch of vampires.

"Hey--Hey--Hmm!--Yo!"

Jack tossed aside the broken stick in his hand and began to dance clumsily in the exhibition hall.

Suddenly he raised his hand and pointed, then abruptly thrust his hips forward.

"Now! Are you satisfied, you old hags of the Rose Sect!"

Jack Martin blew a kiss to the camera.

"Are you angry? Are you going to come and get me?"

The blond boy wrapped his coat tightly around himself, looking like a ghost.

"Try it! Call more people! Call all your bedmates! I'm your biggest threat!"

It instantly turned into smoke and disappeared.

"Hahahaha! Hahahahahahaha!--"

[Real Name: David Victor]

[Soul Might: Hell Highway To Hell]

[Destructive power: D]

[Speed: C]

[Range: C]

[Endurance: A]

[Precision: A]

[Growth Potential: A]

[Special Ability ① [Highway to Hell]: Once a living being observes or recognizes handwriting written with any stationery, their mind will become completely absorbed in it and unable to extricate itself until the text is fully studied and understood. It cannot be interrupted by loud noises, bright lights, or powerful vibrations. In this state, nothing can stop the living being's [reading] behavior until David Victor actively releases the Soul Power using the [Safe Word].]

[Special Ability ② [Make your legends]: When David Victor uses stationery to write on a living being, the text must be comprehensible, fluent, and logically coherent. The living being will use any means necessary, regardless of the cost, to complete the writing.]

--At the same time, David Victor himself will also be affected by the [Hell Highway]'s abilities, including hearing, touch, smell, taste, sight, and psychic sixth sense, as well as the perception and intuition of wild beasts--At this moment, David Victor will try his best to imitate the behavior of living beings, involuntarily and uncontrollably experiencing the physiological sensations of living beings, including past memories, current sensations, and premonitions about the future, until David Victor actively uses the [Safe Word] to release the Soul Power.

[Note: Highway To Hell is a famous and energetic single by the rock band AC/DC.]

[Note II: "Make your legends" is from Ronnie Savage's quiet and peaceful piano piece, "Make Your Own Legends"]