The rolling shutter door in the back kitchen was half-opened, letting out a few rays of dim light.
Dean was the first to slide in sideways against the wall, followed closely by Sam, followed by Castiel. The three of them stepped very lightly, and their rubber soles scraped against the greasy tile floor, making almost no sound.
The kitchen was in a mess. There were unpacked soup pots on the stainless steel worktop, with a layer of white oil condensing on the soup base. The multi-layered shelves against the wall were filled with flour bags and sealed cans. The air was mixed with the salty aroma of broth, the pungent smell of disinfectant, and a faint smell of blood.
The cold storage is in the deepest part of the kitchen. The heavy alloy door is closed tightly. There are intermittent slapping sounds from behind the door, one is fainter than the other, like dying flying insects hitting the glass, which makes people feel nervous.
"Quickly, unlock." Dean lowered his voice, pulled out the pistol with his backhand, and stood sideways beside Sam. His eyes scanned every shadow in the kitchen - the curtain in the storage room, the gap in the oven, the pipe opening on the top of the cold storage. His fingertips were pressed against the trigger guard, and his muscles were tense throughout.
Sam squatted down, knelt on one knee on the cold tiles, and took out two hair-thin lock-picking needles from his wallet. His fingertips were so steady that there was no trembling at all. There was a subtle "click" sound from the lock core, and the first lock spring returned to its position, and the second lock spring was mostly loosened, and it could be unscrewed in a few seconds.
At this moment, the soft sound of cloth rubbing suddenly came from the shadow next to the cold storage.
A fat figure walked out from behind the freezer, barely blocking the cold storage door. The man was about 1.9 meters tall, with a bulging belly. He was wearing a white chef's coat stained with oil, and the collar was open, revealing the thick curly hair on his chest. In his hand Holding a half-arm-long chef's knife, the blade is shining with cold light, and his eyes are turbid but fierce, like a bear protecting food. He is the god of food and stoves in this summit of gods, the being in charge of stoves and feasts in the Western old god system.
"You can't leave." He spoke in a low voice, as if coming from a stuffy jar.
The moment he finished speaking, a cluster of orange-red stove fire burst out from the blade of the blade. The flames licked the blade and roasted the surrounding air until it became distorted and hot.
Without saying a word, Dean rushed forward sideways, carrying the wind with his right fist and heading straight for the opponent's door. The God of Cookery did not dodge, and slashed diagonally with the kitchen knife. The stove fire pulled a line of fire along the path of the blade, forcing Dean to retract his fist in the middle, and narrowly avoided sideways. The line of fire brushed his arm, and his sleeves were instantly burnt.
Sam heard the noise and was about to get up to help, when the curtain of the storage room beside him was suddenly opened, and a skinny India god jumped out.
The god's skin was dark brown, his forehead was dotted with cinnabar, he wore a shabby cloth skirt around his waist, and he held two copper sticks in his hands. He moved as nimbly as a monkey, and swept the stick towards Sam's temples.
Sam lowered his head to avoid it, and the copper stick rubbed his scalp, causing a strong wind.
The kitchen instantly became a mess.
Dean circled around the operating table and the God of Cookery, sweeping pots and pans until they fell to the floor, and thick soup and sauces splashed all over the wall; Sam and India Gods were fighting next to the shelves, the flour bag was overturned, and white powder was flying all over the sky, making people choke and cough.
The fire in the God of Cookery's stove burned more and more fiercely. The flames shot up to half a person's height, and even the stainless steel countertops were burned red wherever they passed.
Dean stepped back continuously, his back pressed against the stove, and his arms were sore from the flames. From the corner of his eye, he saw a cast iron pan on the stove. Taking advantage of the gap between the opponent's swings of the knife, he suddenly reached out and grabbed the handle of the pot, sideways dodged the kitchen knife that was coming, and with the strength of turning around, he rounded the pan and hit the God of Cookery on the temple.
"Clang--!"
There was a muffled sound that made people's eardrums hurt. The God of Cookery groaned, his huge body shook three times, his eyes rolled up, and it hit the ground with a "bang", which made the ground tremble. The kitchen knife in his hand dropped to the side with a clang, and the stove fire was extinguished.
"Looking for death." Dean gasped, threw the oily pan aside, turned around and pulled the cold storage door handle.
But as soon as his fingertips touched the doorknob, he frowned - the door lock had been locked again at some point. Just now Sam had clearly unscrewed most of it, but now it was motionless. There was even a layer of dark red blood streaks on the door body, slowly squirming like a living blood vessel.
"The blood curse has become stronger again." Sam kicked India away and ran over quickly. When he saw the blood lines on the door, his face instantly darkened, "Gabriel Something must have happened over there."
As soon as he finished speaking, footsteps came from the entrances and exits at both ends of the kitchen at the same time.
Two tall and strong old gods walked in from the front door, one on the left and one on the right. Without waiting for Dean and Sam to react, they held their arms like chickens. The strength of the two men was amazing. Dean struggled desperately, but his arms were like iron clamps, unable to move at all.
On the other side of the kitchen, Castiel was surrounded by two old gods, and the Holy Power was becoming increasingly stagnant.
The two gods who besieged him were not nameless people. The one on the left was skinny, with skin as dark as charcoal, with curved horns on his head, and his whole body exuded the smell of burning flesh. He was Moloch in Canaanite mythology - the old god in charge of sacrifice and fire. He was best at burning sacred power with sacrificial fire. When the angel's holy power met his sacrificial fire, it was like grease meeting raging fire, and it would only burn weaker and weaker.
The person on the right is wearing a dark gray hooded robe, with his face hidden in the shadows, surrounded by gray-black death mist. He is Celtic, the mythical Lord of the Underworld, Arawn. His mist can corrode the soul, disrupt the flow of holy power, and make angels unable to teleport.
Castiel condensed a light golden holy blade in his hand, and just as he was about to strike at Moloch, Arawn raised his hand and waved, and the mist of death wrapped around his wrist.
The holy power seemed to be frozen for an instant, its circulation speed slowed down by half, and the light of the holy blade also dimmed a bit.
Moloch took the opportunity to come closer, and a cluster of black and red sacrificial fire popped out from his fingertips, hitting Castiel's chest.
Castiel dodged sideways, and the sacrificial fire brushed against his shoulder. The edges of the shadow of the wings were instantly burned and curled, causing a heartbreaking pain.
He gritted his teeth and swung the holy blade, forcing Moloch back, but Arawn behind him released mist again and wrapped it around his ankles.
In the blink of an eye, Moloch's sacrificial fire had already reached the door.
He could only raise his hand to block it with his holy power. The golden shield and the black and red sacrificial fire collided together, making a "sizzling" corrosive sound. The holy power was rapidly consumed, the shield became thinner and thinner, and Arawn's fog penetrated into his mouth and nose all-pervasively, and his consciousness began to sink.
After a few rounds, most of Castiel's holy power had been consumed, and the holy blade could hardly sustain itself. Moloch and Arawn cooperated extremely well. A frontal attack consumed the holy power, and a side harassment blocked his movement, completely locking his movements.
Finally, Moloch punched him in the chest, and the sacrificial fire rushed in along the meridians, burning his angelic core. Castiel groaned, and his body went limp. Arawn reached out to hold him up, completely losing his ability to resist.
The three of them were held up like this and dragged towards the banquet hall. The tile floor was stained with water and oil and was very slippery. The soles of Dean's shoes scraped against the ground. They struggled and cursed all the way, "Let me go! You bastards! You have the ability to challenge me!"
His heart was as heavy as a lead weight. Gabriel overturned, and they folded in again. Bai Haorui was still trapped in a different space. The situation could not be worse. There was a fire in his chest, which made his throat tight and he couldn't bear it. He was in a panic. He Dean was never afraid of death. He had gone through mountains of swords and seas of fire many times, but he was afraid that something might happen to Bai Haorui, afraid that something might happen to Sam, and that in the end, the people around him would fall in one after another.
Sam said nothing, his brows were knitted into knots, but his mind was spinning rapidly.
You definitely can't win if you fight hard. There are too many old gods here, so you can only wait.
Waiting for opportunities, waiting for variables, waiting for Bai Haorui to come out.
I just don't know if Haorui can survive in that different space until the moment when the variables appear.
The lights in the corridor flickered on and off, and the long carpet absorbed the sound of footsteps. There was only the friction sound of them being dragged, and the faint sound of voices coming from the banquet hall in the distance, hitting the wall dullly.
In the arena of a different space, Bai Haorui had just sheathed his sword and stood firm.
The scene just now was the thirteenth since he came in.
And next, there are still three tough battles waiting for him - they are all capable men under the throne of the main god, with stable godhood and far greater power than the previous minor gods.
When the first beam of light fell, the stone slabs of the arena shook.
What came out was a burly Northern Europe warrior, with his upper body naked and his muscles as distinct as rocks. His chest and arms were covered with old scars, and his face was painted with blue battle patterns. He was carrying two double-edged battle axes, the ax blades glowing coldly, with a violent fighting spirit lingering around him, and his eyes were bloodshot, like an enraged bear.
This is the dead warrior under Bjorn and Odin, the berserker commander of Valhalla. He died in the final battle of Ragnarök. After his death, his soul was taken into Valhalla. He is the most fierce spirit of war who is not afraid of death. After becoming berserk, he knows no pain and is extremely powerful. Ordinary weapons cannot hurt his spirit body at all.
"Mortals, kneel down." Bjorn spoke in a urn voice, the battle ax struck the ground, and sparks flew everywhere.
Bai Haorui didn't say anything, he just held the mahogany sword horizontally in front of him and tightened his fingertips slightly.
The cuffs of his combat uniform had been scratched, and there were a few shallow wounds on his arms. He looked a little embarrassed, but his eyes were still calm, like a bottomless pool.
Bjorn rushed over first, with the sound of howling wind, the two axes struck his shoulders one left and one right.
Even before the ax arrived, the violent fighting spirit was already overwhelming and breathless.
Bai Haorui stepped on Seven Stars Gang Steps, his body swayed, and he took half a step back like a wisp of smoke, barely avoiding the two axes. The ax blade struck the black stone ground, and there was a "click" sound, and the stone slab cracked two deep marks.
Without waiting for the opponent to retract the axe, Bai Haorui turned his wrist, and the mahogany sword pulled out a sword flower. The sword body lit up with pale golden runes. It was "Evil-Slaying Form", and a condensed sword energy went straight to Bjorn's wrist. Bjorn did not dodge or dodge, letting the sword energy slash on his arm, leaving only a shallow white mark - the berserker's spirit body is as hard as iron, and ordinary sword energy cannot break through the defense.
"That's all you have?" Bjorn laughed wildly, and danced his axes tightly, pressing forward step by step.
Bai Haorui was neither impatient nor impatient, stepping on Gang Steps and shuttled through the shadow of the axe. From time to time, he clicked the peach wood sword a few times, and they all landed accurately in the openings of the opponent's moves. He deliberately slowed down his offensive, pretending to be suppressed by the opponent's power, staggering, and his chest rose and fell slightly, as if he was exhausted.
After fighting for more than ten rounds, Bai Haorui figured out the opponent's strategy - the berserker was driven by fighting spirit, and the more he fought, the crazier he became.
He spotted an opening, turned sideways to avoid the incoming axe, pinched True Fire Art with his left hand, a cluster of purple-gold Three Altars Pure Yang True Fire emerged from his fingertips, and raised his hand to press it on Bjorn's chest.
"Zila--"
When True Fire touched the spirit body, it was like burning on grease, and Lao Gao's flames instantly burst out. Bjorn let out a painful roar, and his violent fighting spirit was burned away.
He took a few steps back and stretched out his hand to pat the flames on his chest, but the fire was Pure Yang True Fire, which specializes in defeating evil spirits. The more he patted it, the stronger it burned.
"Five elements positioning, sleepy!"
Bai Haorui took the opportunity to raise his left hand, and five Five Emperor Coins flew out with golden light, and landed around Bjorn according to the directions of gold, wood, water, fire, and earth. Golden talismans were pulled out from among the copper coins and wrapped around them layer by layer, trapping him firmly in the middle.
The talisman chain carried True Fire's heat, burning Bjorn's spirit body, making him unable to move.
Bjorn is still roaring and struggling, and his spirit body is being burned more and more faintly.
Bai Haorui walked over with the mahogany sword in hand. The sword was wrapped in a layer of condensed True Fire, and the sword's edge was pointed directly at the spiritual core between the opponent's eyebrows.
"Have a good trip."
As the words fell, the sword pierced. Purple-gold flames rushed in along the sword body and swallowed the entire spirit body in an instant. Bjorn's screams stopped abruptly, and the spirit body turned into light spots all over the sky, and finally condensed into a translucent godhead with violent fighting intent, suspended in the air.
Bai Haorui stretched out his hand to catch the godhead, his fingertips felt slightly hot.
He staggered, held on to his knees, and gasped for air. Several more scorch marks were added to his combat uniform, making him look miserable. But no one saw it, and there was a flash of light in his lowered eyes. He had quietly incorporated the divine personality into his dantian, Pure Yang True Fire, and began to slowly refine it.
The thick Power of Faith spreads along the meridians, nourishing the True Gang in the Dantian.
The second battle ensues.
The light beam fell again, and what appeared this time was a three-faced and six-armed Yaksha god general with green and black skin and a third eye on his forehead. He held a King Kong pestle, a trident, a lasso, a cymbal, a Falun and a short knife in his six hands. He was filled with strong evil spirit and illusion power.
This is the Yaksha god general Manibhadra under Kubera, who is in charge of the Yaksha army. He is proficient in illusions and close combat, and can transform numerous phantoms, making it difficult for people to distinguish Qingxu from reality.
As soon as it landed, Manibhadra's third eye lit up red.
The surrounding scene changed instantly. The Blackstone Arena disappeared, and was replaced by a sea of blood. Blood waves surged, and countless dead souls stretched out their hands from the blood and grabbed Bai Haorui.
The smelly wind blew in my face, and my ears were filled with shrill cries. An ordinary person would have been frightened by the illusion and lost his mind.