Doomsday Wonderland Chapter 1863: A cracked seam

Kostinai has a problem. No matter whether she is familiar with him or not, as soon as someone dies, she will forget the other person's face. It's like being washed away by water, and the face, body, voice... will all ebb from her memory.

She remembered the statue of the Virgin because she recalled the coolness when her bare feet stepped on the floor, the heavy feel when she grabbed the coat on the ground, and the sound of throwing it on the man.

Yes, there is indeed a statue of the Virgin on that naked arm——

Just when she was slightly distracted, the makeup chair was suddenly kicked hard and hit her leg.

The young man used all his strength, as if he wanted to smash her calf bones and knees apart and knock them out of joint; Constantine suddenly felt pain, and before she had time to pull the trigger, a shadow had already struck back, The hand knife cut into her wrist bone.

The small pistol flew away from his hand and landed a few steps away. It was in tandem with the Scorpion submachine gun that had just been kicked away, as if they were about to touch each other across the carpet.

Unlike him, Constantine never glanced at the gun again.

Sitting in her position as a woman means that she is faster, more ferocious, and more ruthless than her male counterparts - and more difficult to kill; she has already practiced fighting instinctively.

As soon as the gun left his hand, Constantine turned around and took two steps to meet him, blocking his way to grab the gun with his own body.

In the quiet and small dressing room, the two of them were so close that they could smell each other's breath.

...This child must be lying, just to distract her. The statue of the Virgin should have been seen when he committed the murder.

Constiny thought almost with satisfaction.

His naked upper body twisted; his clean and slender muscles tightened and twisted under his sweaty skin. A fist sank deeply into Constantine's abdomen, heavy and fast.

Constiny snorted slightly from his nose, but his feet remained motionless.

In her life, she has been assassinated, stabbed, and used force countless times. I don’t know when she started. She found that the harder, heavier, and closer she was attacked, the more she was able to... enter the state.

She loves pain.

The pain was like electricity, clashing and climbing in her blood vessels, vibrating her nerves to buzz and vibrate like piano strings, making her whole body tremble and become excited.

Before he could retract his fist, Constantine opened his arms.

She was half a head taller than him, with slender limbs, and she took him into her arms gently and effortlessly. She put one hand on the back of his head, and quickly slid her other hand down to grab the side of his belt.

On the fingers on the inside of the belt, a small piece of skin above the nails is stuck in the darkness and warmth.

She suddenly exerted her strength, and with the help of a tug on the belt, she grabbed his hair with her other hand and pulled him down, asking him to lower his waist like a tango dance, and quickly pulled the boy to the ground—— When his body fell, Constantine couldn't hold it back and let out a song from his throat.

The boy hit the ground with a muffled sound.

If you love me, don't let go. Catch, catch me...

In the midst of Costiner's half-breathy, half-whispering singing voice, she didn't even look back. She turned her hand to hold the leg of the makeup chair and waved it through the air - the chair swung across the dressing table, leaving a cloud of pale powder mist, The spilled light red perfume and golden eye shadow powder all splashed into the air and light - and hit the wound on his thigh heavily.

The boy couldn't suppress a hiss of pain, which echoed in the small dressing room.

Seeing him curling up unconsciously and still trying to roll out, Constantine took a step forward and stood astride him with a makeup chair.

He also realized something was wrong, and immediately stood up and punched her calf bone.

Obviously he looks like a young boy who has not yet finished growing up, but his fists are like iron and stone, and the tone of Constantine's singing has changed.

The pain in her legs made her unable to stand upright. As soon as she fell to the ground, she knelt down and sat up. She raised the chair high and hit him on the head and face.

The boy reluctantly turned over, his head narrowly avoiding the chair; the chair made a "bang" sound next to his ear.

His reaction was extremely fast, and he grabbed the chair leg with his backhand. They stared into each other's eyes tightly, never letting go for a breath; their strength was locked on the chair, and they were incomparable.

Hold on, hold on to me, I’m a little unsteady on my feet...

Constinet stretched out his left arm, and his fingertips reached towards the hangers full of clothes on the other side of the dressing room. Without looking, she grabbed the first silk bathrobe that came to her fingertips and pulled it off. Her right hand let go of the chair, and then she covered the young man's eyebrows and face with the bundle of silk bathrobe.

She felt a little lost.

The chair hit her waist, and Constantine groaned, cutting off her singing. However, her hands were still like nails, firmly nailing the bathrobe to the ground, suppressing the person underneath.

Perhaps realizing that the smashing had no effect on Constantine, the boy threw the chair. Although he couldn't see and couldn't breathe, two hands came up from below.

The body is narrow and thin, but the hands are unexpectedly big.

He closed his fingers on Costinette's neck. The fingers were tight and cold, and they pricked deeply into her trachea and blood vessels.

For a time, both sides worked hard to completely crush the other's breath. The wound on his thigh began to bleed again, and the gurgling hot and wet blood stained Constantine's legs and nightgown.

He was far more difficult to deal with than Constantine thought; she was the first to be unable to bear it any longer, loosened her bathrobe, raised her hand in suffocating pain, and took off an earring—— She fumbled with her backhand and stabbed it hard, piercing the earring needle through the fabric and into the wound on his thigh.

The young man let out a low cry like a wounded animal, and involuntarily loosened his hand a little.

Seizing the opportunity, Constantine stood up in a hurry, still stumbling a little, and rushed in the direction of the gun; the young man pressed up from behind, hugged her legs, and dragged her down. on the ground.

"Where are your subordinates?" he asked hoarsely, "Why haven't they come to rescue you after so long?"

As the two gasped, rolled and fought, Constantine couldn't help but laugh.

"Black ink?" She punched the boy and gasped, "Why don't you think of a more common excuse?"

He evaded hastily, his black hair fluttering, then fell down again; the next attack was paused.

"It's true."

Constiny also paused. "Really?" The smile on her face still hadn't dissipated.

"That's why I blew up half of the second carriage." He was obviously dragged down by his injuries, and he probably had to talk for a while - the blood had already stained the clothes tied to his legs. , and the forced gasping between words could be clearly heard.

In the dark and damp depths of my mind, waves of drunkenness still hit me. Constantine laughed, licked his broken lips, and whispered: "The second time I heard it, it wasn't surprising enough."

The young man opened his mouth and was about to speak, but suddenly stopped.

Constiny tilted his head and looked at his face almost tenderly, without being distracted by his performance in the slightest. ~IndoMTL.com~ Her peripheral vision had already locked onto the location of the Scorpion submachine gun.

He was so brave, he turned his eyes away without any defense in front of her; his neck was exposed under the light of the makeup lamp, looking smooth and fragile.

Even her subordinates are usually reluctant to turn their backs to her, just like the survival instinct of animals.

"You just..." The boy didn't seem to notice her hand gradually sliding towards the gun. He just stared at the door and murmured: "Didn't you lock the door?"

Constinet stopped.

The warm and scalding alcohol fell from her skin, her cheeks, and her blood; she sat on the ground and looked at the young man opposite her, gradually becoming as cold as a statue.

He wasn't trying to distract her; she saw it out of the corner of her eye.

I don’t know when the dressing room door slid open silently, and a black gap opened between the door and the wall. She knew that the lights in the club had been turned off; but she still felt that the narrow slit of darkness was too dark.

Shouldn’t there be night lights, emergency lights, and moonlight outside the corridor windows? At this time, there seemed to be a long strip of thick ink sticking to the crack of the door, and I held my breath.

The most important thing is that she had clearly locked the door just now.

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