Dean was locked on the execution rack with red-hot iron chains, and his flesh was sizzling from the iron chains. Every struggle only made the iron chains embed deeper. Alastair stood in front of him, his white suit spotless, the soldering iron in his hand was red-hot, and there was a cruel smile carved into Dean's bones at the corner of his mouth. The screen switched like crazy, Castiel's backlit figure, Lilith's bewitching whisper in his ear, finally settled on Dean's own hand - he held the branding iron and looked down at the innocent soul huddled on the torture rack, with a numb and cheerful smile on his face. He pressed the branding iron hard, and the scream from the soul made his eardrums hurt.
"Who are you?" Dean in the fantasy world couldn't stop shaking all over, and his voice was shaking.
"Castiel. I am the angel of the Lord. I hold you tightly and rescue you from the Hell abyss." The angel's voice was like a bell, but it could not hold back his falling soul.
The picture was instantly distorted. Lilith's figure was close to his ear, breathing like a poisonous snake. "Hi, Dean. It's me, Lilith. What's wrong, Dean? Don't remember those happy days when you were down there?"
Dean let out a painful groan, and the scene in front of him exploded again, and Alastair's voice came. "We meet again, Dean. Don't you recognize me? We are so familiar in Hell."
Hell's memory fragments came like a flood, and his monologue was filled with tears and self-loathing, echoing in the empty fantasy. "They cut me open... scratched and tore my body in all kinds of ways you can't imagine. Alastair will give me a chance every day, as long as I open When he started torturing others, he took me down from the torture rack. For thirty years, I told him to get out every day. But finally I couldn't hold on anymore, Sam. I got off the torture rack and started tearing those souls to pieces. I can't even remember how many souls I killed... I even... I even felt good."
"No--!"
Dean let out a short scream and suddenly came back to reality from the illusion. His hands were tightly gripping the steering wheel of Impala. His knuckles were white from the exertion. His whole body was soaked in cold sweat. The back of his leather jacket A large area was wet, and his chest heaved violently like a broken bellows. There were no other cars on the road in the early morning, only a short stretch of road illuminated by headlights, and boundless darkness surrounded him from all directions, much like Hell's torture chamber.
Sam in the passenger seat was awakened by his scream. He sat up straight and looked at him with worry. "What are you doing? Are you having another nightmare?"
Dean wiped the cold sweat from his face. His fingertips were cold. He pretended to be calm and twitched his lips. "What do you think I am doing? Looking for a case."
He patted the buzzing radio irritably, and ran his fingertips across the newspaper spread out on his lap. A piece of murder news made his eyes light up instantly.
"Yes!"
Sam frowned, his tone full of exhaustion and helplessness. "We just finished a case two hours ago, Haorui has reached the threshold of breakthrough because of these dozens of consecutive battles, go to Bobby's house is in retreat. I guess your adrenaline hasn't dropped yet. So, which one do you like? Cedar Rapids, Tulsa or Chicago?"
"I'm all for working, really... but you've been keeping us busy with cases for almost a month. We need to sleep."
Dean said without raising his head, "When I die, I will have plenty of time to sleep."
"You're exhausted, Dean."
"I'm fine."
"No, you are in trouble." Sam's voice deepened, with unavoidable firmness, "You are relying on one breath to hold on now, you cannot escape forever."
Dean suddenly turned his head and stared at him, the red bloodshot eyes were particularly dazzling, and his tone was full of embarrassment and anger. "What am I running from?"
"Run away from what you told me." Sam looked into his eyes and said word by word, "Or should we pretend that it never happened?"
Dean:
Escape? Of course I am running away. How dare I stop? As soon as I stop, those images will crawl into my mind like maggots - my hand holding the torture instrument, the screams of those souls before death, and the damn, uncontrollable pleasure in my heart. I am a monster, I am not even as good as those demons in Hell. Demons at least do evil openly, but what about me? I wear the skin of a demon hunter and do the same things as demons. I can only keep looking for cases and killing monsters. Only in this way can I lie to myself. I am still the same Dean·Winchester, not a bastard with hands stained with the blood of innocent souls.
Dean looked away abruptly, pointed hard at the murder news in the newspaper, and brought the topic back. "Nebraska, Stratton Town. A small agricultural town. There was a man in a locked room in a fully enclosed house. He was chopped to pieces and died. There was no sign of forced entry."
Sam frowned, suppressed the worry in his heart, and followed his words: "It sounds like a ghost is causing trouble."
"Yes, that's right." Dean turned the steering wheel fiercely, and Impala let out a low roar. The tires wiped out a faint white smoke on the road, turned around, and sped away in the direction of Nebraska.
At the same time, thousands of miles away, in the demon hunting cabins of South Dakota, Bobby·Singer, a dim lamp lit up in the living room.
The table was piled with exorcism books, devil rune rubbings, and demon hunting notes written in various languages. The whiskey bottle was poured aside. Bai Haorui sat at the table, Five Emperor Coins slowly stopped on his fingertips. Turning downwards, the red-gold Pure Yang True Fire lingering around the body flickered on and off, and the original fire originating from the Nezha golden fire in the center of the eyebrows was beating crazily, as if it was about to break through the shackles of the flesh.
He was wearing a gray sportswear, with the cuffs rolled up to his forearms, revealing his smooth arms covered with old injuries. The month of continuous rotation and hunting did not leave much fatigue on his face, but made his eyes more determined, like tempered steel. He slowly opened his eyes, with a faint golden fire flashing in his eyes, and looked at Bobby, who was sitting opposite and drinking.
Bobby is wearing a frayed baseball cap, with gray stubble covering his chin, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes are so deep that they seem to be carved into them. Each of them contains the hardships of decades of hunting monsters. His hands are covered with calluses, his knuckles are thick, and they are crisscrossed with scars from holding guns, flipping through books, and repairing cars. He is holding a glass of whiskey at the moment. He downs half of the glass in one gulp, and his Adam's apple rolls.
"Bobby, I want to retreat for a few days." Bai Haorui.
Bobby raised his head, glanced at him with turbid but sharp eyes, took another sip of whiskey, and asked angrily, "Retreat? What do you mean? What else are you going to do?"
"My strength is about to break through to a new level." Bai Haorui's fingertips crossed the table, and the red-gold True Fire condensed into a small flame on his fingertips. "In the past month or so, I have traveled all over the United States and fought dozens of games. In addition, after fighting angels and demons before, my muscles and bones have been tempered to the fifth level. True Fire's control has also reached its peak, and I won't make any progress if I continue to use it up. Only by breaking through to the sixth level [True Gang Condensation·Refining Qi into Gang] can my strength reach another level, and can I have some hope of not dying in the next Apocalypse war."
Bobby was silent for a few seconds, put down the wine glass, and sighed heavily. He looked at the young Eastern monk in front of him, his eyes full of complex emotions - distressed, recognized, and worried. This child had been rushing forward desperately, as if something was chasing him, refusing to relax at all. I remember that it was not good to be so silent when we first met.
"Okay." Bobby finally nodded and pointed in the direction of the basement, "You can use the basement. I will personally guard the door to ensure that not even a fly can fly in. You can break through with peace of mind. I will keep an eye on those two bastards and let you know if anything happens."
Bai Haorui nodded slightly to Bobby, and traced his fingertips across the table, leaving three neatly stacked talismans. The cinnabar runes on the talisman paper glowed with a faint golden light. "Thank you very much. These three amulets, if you keep them close to you, can block three black magic attacks from high-level demons. During my retreat, be careful."
Bai Haorui:
The fifth level, Bone Refinement into Steel, has tempered my body to the extreme of mortal form, but True Qi will eventually fall apart. Even if it is Pure Yang True Fire, the most pure and pure, there will still be energy loss when it is released. Facing opponents of the level of Uriel and Alastair, it is still a little worse. The sixth level, Refining Qi into Gang, is to compress the liquid True Qi into the solid True Gang, which is a qualitative leap. Only when I cross this threshold can I truly step into the realm of cultivation, and be more qualified to compete with those guys like Heaven and Hell.
Bai Haorui picked up the mahogany sword beside the table and turned towards the underground secret room. The thick iron door slowly closed behind him, and the Yang Gathering Talisman text painted in advance on the door instantly lit up. A layer of faint red gold True Fire enveloped the entire basement, isolating all evil spirits and locking all the breath in the secret room.
An old single-family house that has been abandoned for more than half a year is located in the farmland on the edge of the town.
The house is a typical American rural single-family house with a wooden structure.
Dean and Sam pried open the door lock and sneaked into the house one after another. The electromagnetic radiation detectors (EMF) in their hands made chaotic hissing sounds from time to time. Dean whistled and stamped on the floor. He frowned in disgust and looked around the whole room.
"Hey, it has three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a murder case. This house must be selling very well." Dean walked to the kitchen, reached out and knocked on a metal lift cabinet embedded in the wall, and raised his eyebrows, "Hey, look at this. Ha, it should be a dish lift. They are all in old houses."
Sam followed him, holding the EMF detector in front of him. Hearing this, he raised his eyes and said with a helpless ridicule in his tone, "He is really a know-it-all."
Dean was stunned for a moment, then turned to look at him. "What?"
"What?" Sam pretended to be confused.
"You just said..."
"What?"
Dean rolled his eyes and waved his hands. "Forget it. There are no blood stains, fresh wall paint, no clues at all."
At this moment, the EMF detector pointer in Sam's hand suddenly jumped wildly, making a harsh hissing sound, and the pointer hit his head.
"The pointer kept jumping wildly." Sam frowned and stared at the detector's dial.
Dean came over to take a look and waved his hand nonchalantly. "There are wires next to it, that's normal. Okay, then..."
"It's good if Haorui is here. Let him scan it with Spiritual Sense and you will know if there is any evil spirit." Sam sighed, with a bit of regret in his tone.
Dean clicked his tongue and patted his shoulder. "It's useless to say that it's because he's not here now. Don't rely on others and find clues yourself."
As he spoke, he knelt down, groped under the cabinet in the corner for a while, and pulled out a damaged, stained doll's head. The plastic face of the doll's head had cracked, one eye was missing, and the other eye was cloudy. The hair was tangled, and it looked particularly scary. Dean pinched the hair of the doll's head with two fingers with a look of disgust, and lifted it up.
"Ugh, this thing is too scary."
Sam came over and took a look. "Do you think the person from before left it behind?"
"Who is left behind? Could it be that Bill Gibson, the old man who died here, still likes to play with doll heads?" Dean threw the doll heads back under the cabinet and patted the dust on his hands.
At this moment, the roar of a car engine came from outside the house, as well as the harsh sound of the brakes of a large truck, and the sound of tires rubbing against the ground was particularly clear. Sam's expression changed instantly.
"It's broken."
Dean also frowned. "Didn't you say that this house is still for sale?"
"Apparently not anymore."
In the airtight underground chamber, the surrounding walls were painted with Daoist runes of gathering the sun, locking the soul, and protecting the pulse. The red cinnabar glowed with a faint golden light under the candlelight. Nine white candles surrounded Nine-Turn Yang Gathering Array, firmly locking the formation eye. In the center of the formation eye, Bai Haorui sat cross-legged, with his eyes closed, and a faint red gold color Pure Yang True Fire lingered around his body.
He formed Midnight-Noon Hand Seal with his hands, chanted Heart-Purifying Mantra, and the golden fire between his brows slowly lit up. The liquid Pure Yang True Fire in his Dantian was like a golden ocean, spinning crazily with his breathing. He guided the galloping True Fire to flow rapidly along the twelve meridians. Every time it circulated for one week, he used his mind to forcibly compress it by one point.
Refining Qi into Gang, the first step is to compress the dispersed and mixed liquid True Qi in the body to the extreme to remove impurities. My True Qi is originally Pure Yang True Fire derived from Nezha golden light fire. It is the most pure and pure. There are not many impurities in it. But if you want to compress it, True Gang, which has shrunk into a solid state, must go through thousands of tempers. Just like forging iron, only by repeatedly forging and removing all the impurities in the iron can you make hundreds of refined steel. The same goes for True Fire. Only by repeatedly compressing and tempering can the gaseous and liquid emptiness be shed, and the True Gang can be condensed into an indestructible and moveable True Gang.
The temperature in the secret room is getting higher and higher, and the air is roasted and twisted by True Fire. Under his forced compression, the volume of True Fire in the Dantian shrinks at a speed visible to the naked eye, and the color slowly changes from the original bright red gold with lavender to a rich purple gold. The temperature is getting higher and higher, and even the granite on the ground is baked slightly red.
But just when True Fire was compressed to the extreme, True Fire, which was originally rotating smoothly, suddenly exploded! The scattered fire flow was like out-of-control magma, frantically impacting his meridians, and the tearing pain was instantaneous. It swept through the whole body. Bai Haorui groaned, and a trace of bright red blood spilled from the corner of his mouth. He gritted his teeth and did not lose his mind. He kept the seals of his hands unchanged and forcibly took the scurrying True Fire back to his Dantian bit by bit.
Bai Haorui:
I'm still anxious. I only think about compressing energy, forgetting that condensing True Gang is not only the accumulation of energy, but also the melting of soul and will. Every strand of True Gang must be integrated into my Daoist heart and my guardianship. Otherwise, even if it is forcibly compressed, it will only be a tree without roots and water without a source, which will be scattered as soon as it rushes. Don't be impatient. Steady your mind, use Daoist heart as your guide, and guarding as your guideline, and start over.
He slowly exhaled a mouthful of bloody breath, raised his hand to wipe the blood from the corner of his mouth, and closed his eyes again. This time, he did not forcefully compress True Fire, but instead "resisted fate, protected relatives, and did not commit murder and abuse." "The heart of the Tao gradually merged into the circulating True Fire. The purple-gold flame slowly became stable, and every wisp of flame carried the mark of his unique will, as if it had been engraved with an exclusive brand that would never fade away again.
The moving truck stopped at the door of the old house, raising a puff of dust. The door opened, and the Carter family got out of the car one after another with their dogs, and began to carry their luggage into the house. The faces of the family all showed the exhaustion of traveling long distances, but they also hid a cautious expectation for a new life.
Walking at the front is the male host Brian·Carter, a middle-aged man in his forties, with a slightly receding hairline and messy short brown hair. He is wearing a work jacket, jeans with motor oil stained on his face. Although he is still tired, his eyes will soften unconsciously when he looks at his family. He is holding a black Labrador named Buster in his hand. The dog is growling uneasily at the old house, with its ears pressed tightly against his head.
His wife Susan followed behind him. Her blond hair was pulled into a simple bun, with a few strands of broken hair hanging on her cheeks. There were faint lines at the corners of her eyes. She was wearing a beige sweater and held a cardboard box full of tableware in her arms. She was always paying attention to the children's movements. Her gentle brows and eyes were full of the same tiredness and uneasiness as Brian.
The adolescent daughter Kate jumped out of the car. She was seventeen or eighteen years old, with light brown hair dyed with a few strands of pink. She was wearing ripped jeans and a black hoodie, with a look of deep impatience on her face. As soon as she got off the car, she took out her mobile phone, lowered her head and swiped it twice. Her face instantly fell. She stuffed the phone back into her pocket and rolled her eyes.
The seven-year-old son Danny, holding a green dinosaur doll, followed timidly behind his mother. His round eyes were full of curiosity and a little afraid of the unfamiliar environment. He clutched the corners of his mother's clothes tightly with his little hands and looked into the old house from time to time.
The last person to get out of the car was Ted, the younger brother of Susan. He was in his thirties, tall, with a beard, wearing a denim jacket and work boots, holding two cans of beer in his hand. He was swaying casually, with a somewhat casual look on his face. He looked at the old house in front of him and curled his lips.
Brian patted Buster on the head, looked up at the old house, and smiled at his family, "Come here, Buster. What a good dog. What do you think? Isn't this house nice?"
Kate immediately rolled his eyes, his tone full of complaints. "Has anyone bothered to check if there is a mobile phone signal here?"
"Actually, I checked, Kate." Brian looked at her daughter helplessly, "But we still decided to move here just to ruin your life. Okay, let's move things."
"Uncle Ted, please help me say something." Kate turned to look at Ted, his face full of grievances.
Ted opened a can of beer, took a sip, and raised his eyebrows at Kate: "Kid, you're right, he is ruining your life."
"Did you hear that?" Kate immediately looked at Brian proudly.
Brian looked at Ted angrily. "Thank you so much, uncle Ted."
"I'm just telling the truth, brother." Ted shrugged, looking indifferent.
Susan came over, touched Brian's arm gently, and said softly, "Hey."
"What's wrong?" Brian turned to look at her.
"Be nice to the kids."
"I'm already very polite." Brian sighed, looked at Susan again, his eyes softened, "What do you think? Is the place we chose good?"
Susan looked at the dilapidated old house in front of him, was silent for a few seconds, and gently shook his head. "It's hard to say."
At this moment, Dean and Sam walked out of the main entrance of the old house and bumped into Carter's family. Kate instantly became alert, took a step back, pointed at the two people, and said to his parents, "Who are they?"
Brian immediately protected his family behind him, took a step forward, looked at the two of them, and said with caution in his tone, "Can I help you?"
"Are you the new owner of this house?" Sam spoke first, with a polite smile on his face.
"Yes. Are you?"
Dean immediately put on a businesslike expression, took out the fake police badge in his pocket, and flashed it quickly. "This is Mr. Stanwyck, I am Mr. Babar. We are from the County Building Code Enforcement Bureau."
Brian's brows frowned instantly. "We just did a house inspection last week. Is there anything wrong?"
"There is asbestos in the wall and there is a gas leak." Sam took over the conversation with a serious expression, "Yes, it's a big problem."
Susan's hands holding the carton tightened. "Asbestos? What do you mean?"
"It means that the house is not suitable for habitation until it meets code standards."
Brian's face darkened. "Wait, wait. You mean we can't live here?"
"This house has health hazards, you'd better not stay there." Dean nodded and pointed in the direction of the town, "There is a motel two miles down the road. I suggest you stay there until the hazards are cleared."
"Wait a minute." Ted stepped forward, stood in front of Brian, took a sip of beer, and looked at the two of them, "We just drove 400 miles here, and now you want us to stay in a motel?"
Dean looked at him expressionlessly. "Either stay in a motel, pay a fine, or go to jail. Choose one of the three."
Brian was silent for a few seconds, looking at the old house in front of him, and at the tired family members around him, and finally sighed, "Okay, just one night. Just one night, I promise to take care of everything as soon as possible."
"Okay, it's up to you." Dean shrugged and didn't insist anymore.
Kate's tone was full of collapse. "Staying in a motel again? That's great, Dad. I hope the sheets this time are the same as last time, used by prostitutes."
"Kate!" Susan scolded with a frown, then turned around and took Danny's hand, "Danny, come here."
"Let's go, Danny." Brian also shouted, turned around and led his family back to the house. Ted followed carelessly, looking back at Dean and Sam from time to time, his eyes full of suspicion.
Dean and Sam sat back in Impala and looked at the Carter family who were carrying luggage in the rearview mirror. Ted was knocking on the wall with a hammer and talking to Brian with disdain. Dean patted the steering wheel impatiently.
"Damn. So what do we do now?"
Sam sighed, "We can tell them the truth."
Dean turned to look at him as if he were a fool. "Are you serious?"
"No, it's just talk." Sam waved his hand helplessly.
Bobby squatted at the door of the basement, put the freshly made sandwich and a bottle of water next to the door, and pressed his ears tightly against the heavy iron door, listening to the movement inside. There was only the faint hum of True Fire circulating inside, and there was no unusual sound. He breathed a sigh of relief, stood up, picked up the whiskey on the table, and drank more than half of the glass in one gulp.
He looked at the closed iron door and murmured to himself in a hoarse voice, "You kid must hold on. Those two brats are enough to worry about. Don't make any more mistakes. The sky is going to collapse, and someone has to hold on."
Mrs. Curry's home is a clean and tidy little house in a residential area in the center of the town. The yard is full of roses. The old lady is sitting on the rocking chair in the living room, wearing a dark floral dress and a pair of small pearl earrings. Her gray hair is neatly combed and she is wearing rubber gloves on her hands. She is wiping the table. When she sees the fake police badges displayed by Dean and Sam, her face shows a cautious and vigilant look.
"Mrs. Curry, what was the room like when you found Mr. Gibson's body?" Dean was the first to speak, sitting on the sofa opposite the old lady, leaning forward slightly and speaking in a serious tone.