Chapter 4

Draft

_____

177 grabbed the side of the bathtub and almost collapsed there. When you took out the third bottle cap, it couldn't even kneel.

Its claws dig through the ceramic bathtub wall as you take out the cap, making a harsh sound. You hope it doesn't leave scratches there, but you feel that if its response is just scratching the bathtub, it would be quite worrying. Among all the things you cleaned, it reacted better than 70% of stray dogs, 80% of stray children, and 90% of stray cats. 177 doesn't scream in a way that makes your ears throb in pain, it doesn't get water everywhere, and doesn't struggle or bite you indiscriminately. If it wants to leave a few scratches on the bathtub, let it go.

You wrap the bottle cap in a paper towel and throw it into the trash can to avoid scratching the garbage collector. 177, for the time being, doesn't have the strength to mess around. You take the shackles and wash them in the sink. You washed them till they're all shiny, you also washed your hands, soaped twice, and cleaned the blood under your nails. After doing this, you wipe your hands on a towel and say to 177, "Wait a minute ." One minute later, you returned to the bathroom, wearing rubber gloves and holding a palm-sized water bottle. 177 was still on its spot, shoving itself into a ball at the corner of the tub, which means it knelt on its calf again, still holding the bathtub, but no longer lying flat on it. It looked up at you when you came in, showing no expression.

You are a little surprised because the water bottle in your hand is the standard most common colour. Any demon soldier who sees it should know what will happen next (though not necessarily knowing the details), you don't know why it can be unresponsive.

Of course, this isn't to say that this reaction's a bad thing.

You put the water bottle on the sink and put back the shackles that were removed from 177. You unfold the folding bed in the corner of the bathroom and fix it on a concrete pillar. This thing crowded the bathroom a bit, but your residence isn't big, only the bathroom is covered with tiles and is easy to wash. You take out a roll of plastic sheet and spread it on the folding bed, carefully spreading two layers in total. You look at the folding bed and the demon in the bathtub, not sure if this bed can withstand it.

It was a camp bed, you bought it in the supermarket. In recent years, more and more military supplies became available in supermarkets. The cross metal frame is tied with canvas, an ordinary person can sleep in it and a cat can be tied up here. In fact, you bought this thing to tie up cats. You sterilize them on the camp bed in the bathroom. The shelter's unwilling to pay the money, it'd not easy for them either. People want to spend less money more and more these days. Some people think that spending money simply to take care of cats and dogs is crazy. In fact, you don't know why cats and dogs are still in containment, but since they're still there, there's a reason for their existence.

You chanted a scripture, this time it has to be spoken, you're not very familiar with this kind of mantra. 177's body slid down the edge of the bath, moving his fingers, trying to grasp something but not able to grasp anything. Its muscles relax, like it's being anaesthetized, it can make insignificant movements. You drag it onto the camp bed and it blinks, finally showing a bit of vigilance.

It's a mistake to recite the mantra first. You should've let it lie down on the bed first, you think this as you wipe off your sweat. You spent 177 silver coins. It weighs 177 pounds and is very heavy and difficult to carry.

To be safe, you still pin down 177. Its hands were handcuffed to the concrete pillar and its legs were bent and separated, tied to one side of the bed. Its lower body is completely exposed to you, like a pregnant woman waiting for delivery. You unscrew the cap of the water bottle and use a large syringe with the needle removed to draw the liquid inside, you insert the syringe into 177's hole and push down on the thumb rest.

After half a second, 177 struggled.

The shackles were torn apart and its claws scratched the bed, cutting through the plastic film. After another half a second 177 began to scream, his voice scratched his throat, rough and heavy, resonating with his chest like a wolf howl. You have quick eyes and put a towel into its mouth to prevent it from biting off its tongue. You have made a mistake, you're not skilled enough at restrictive prayers. Holy water is forced into 177's body by a large syringe. It was simple at first, but a little difficult later. After stopping for a while, blood flowed back and the transparent barrel was instantly dyed red.

You have no intention of torturing it, holy water is the best disinfectant, it can cleanse all filth. You have used it to clean the wounds of many people, and you're simply doing the same thing now. Holy water treats everyone equally, purifying everything dirty. It's just that the devil itself is the source of filth, and the object being cleaned is, unfortunately, a hundred times filthier than the people that caused the wounds and the foreign objects stuffed into its body.

177 is a mixed-blood, it will survive.

At that time, even with the blockage of the towel, you still heard the familiar screams. The holy water is working, reacting with 177's cells. You've poured standard holy water on the faces of other half-blood demons. The skin of the demon soldier scorched and smoked. It kept screaming, and the holy water flowed into its open mouth. You know what it looks like: the cells sizzle and melt, the bloody foam will be diluted by holy water and turn into a dirty-looking pink foam, like some kind of industrial wastewater.

You didn't pull out the syringe, even if a whole tube of holy water has been pushed in, you still use the large syringe to block and allow the holy water to stay deeper, it should be there for a while before expiring.

The screams of 177 quickly turned hoarse, its voice had been a bit hoarse at first, as if it had been overused before. Its eyes are red, and its canine teeth are sharp. It looks at you murderously and will definitely bite your neck if it gets the chance, you don't doubt this at all.

You chanted the second binding prayer, the devil's body hangs down, and its muscles are still tight as rock but it won't cause you any more trouble. You took a plastic sheet with your free hand and spread it under the scratched layer. The devil's blood was leaking from the edge of the syringe, like an unstoppable wound, even if the syringe pushed inward, the blood still didn't stop.

You silently counted to sixty before taking out the syringe, a lot of blood pour out, more than the holy water than you poured in. You see light-coloured blood bubble, and dark-coloured blood bubbles, sliding along the plastic sheet onto the tiles and flowing into the sewer. It looks dirty, and you don't think one round of cleaning is enough.

When you came in with the second bottle of holy water, 177 began to tremble.

It struggles to shrink back, staring at the syringe in your hand, its apple is rolling up and down. It tried to crawl backwards, but it was so well fixed it could barely move- this demon shouldn't be able to move, you've given it two restrictive prayers. You can't help but suspect that this isn't your fault, at least not just the fault of your lack of proficiency. This restrictive prayer only works on the demon blood, and the parents of 177 might've been two mixed-bloods. In the hell's army where pedigree is important, it being able to survive till now can be seen as a kind of achievement.

You restrain it again.

You insert the syringe between its unresisting legs, and with the slippery liquid, the large syringe quickly slid in. 177 took a breath and made the sound of being strangled from its throat. When you push the piston, it opens its mouth.

177 opened his mouth wide, the towel fell off, and you could see its tongue trembling in its mouth, but it didn't make any sound. The devil's pupils were dilated, he seemed solidified and didn't move for a long time. As if he couldn't scream, as if it hurt so much that he didn't know what to do. You know that when the pain reaches a certain level, it can make people (or inhuman) confused.

"Ah."

It finally yelled out, unexpectedly soft. Its voice is rough and sandy, without moisture, as if it had been dragged on gravel ground after being hung on a horse, broken into many pieces. It coughed as if choked by its own saliva, and his face was distorted by the shock of this cough. 177 stared at your hand, watching the syringe squeeze the holy water in bit by bit. Its head jerked back, and the back of its head pressed against the concrete pillar behind it. Sweat slid down its eyebrows and slipped off its eyelids. It was shaking violently all over, the whole bed was shaking.

This was not necessarily fear, it can be just a physiological and uncontrollable reaction. Blood flows away from the surface layer of the skin, and the muscles would begin to contract and tremble in an attempt to prevent blood loss and loss of temperature. You touched its ankle, it felt cold.

177 gasps heavily, its breathing adjusted sharply, as if it's sobbing. You look at its face, it doesn't cry, it just sweats.

Can a demon cry? You do not know.

After rinsing, you changed to clean water, took the showerhead and flushed the residues of holy water with a hose. You clean the bathroom, dispose of the plastic sheets, pack the camp bed and rubber gloves, and mop up the precious holy water. After doing this, you walk back to the bathroom and find 177 asleep in the bathtub.

You aren't surprised at all, the creatures you picked up are always very energetic while taking a bath, and tired after the bath. It slept groggily at the bottom of the bathtub, with its back against the wall of the bathtub, hugging his knees, curled up like a fetus. It turns out that the devil sleeps in this pose. You don't want to wake it up, but you have to check the wound before going to bed.

You gently pull away its limbs, your movements are gentle enough, but it wakes up the moment it's touched. 177 bounced up and attacked you fiercely, even though the silver chain sank in its arms, almost snapping its bones. The sound of shackles snapping through the air is enough to show that this was a heavy blow, and your decision to draw back is correct, otherwise, there would be a bruise on your cheek.

You touched the corner of your mouth and wipe the blood from your fingers.

You suddenly smell gunpowder, heard explosions, roars and screams, and countless red and black images flashed through your mind quickly. When was the last time a demon that could hurt you appeared? Eight years ago? Nine years ago? You're still training, and your skills have not dulled, perhaps this is because you have become more relaxed mentally.

You allow the stray animals to scratch and bite you, and let the stray children cry, punch and kick, because their attacks aren't fatal, and you are the priest. You can clean and heal those small wounds. Being caught, bitten and kicked by them helps stabilize their spirits and avoid more trouble. This isn't a battlefield, they don't want to kill you, they were just too scared.

After five years, the habit has become almost natural, and you almost forgot to avoid it.

Nevertheless, you still admire 177. Its reaction speed and angles are impeccable, it's a first-rate player even on the battlefield, not to mention that it's still in shackles, scarred and extremely exhausted. Five years ago, you'll give priority to solving such enemies, even if you have to pay a price. Your thoughts floated to the memories of the past for a while and finally returned to the present.

When you were in a daze, you kept looking at the blood on your fingers. When you looked up at 177, it trembled from your gaze- it was hidden quickly, but you still found it. 177 stares at you unyieldingly, with its chin tense and its head held high. Its chest rises and falls at a very fast rate, you can almost see the devil's heart beating frantically on its chest.

"Don't be afraid." You said, "It's alright."

177 stared at you as if you were a perverted murderer.

You later realized that you probably shouldn't have said this to a demon. You were just accustomed to saying this to all creatures in this situation.

Don't be afraid, it's alright, you say, holding the hand of the dying soldier. Don't be afraid, it's alright, you say, taking a little girl covered in blues and purples from the roof. This is neither a promise nor a valid prayer. It's just light and empty words, but it's useful for most people somehow. It can calm them from hysteria, perhaps because your face and your robe look so beautiful, so persuasive. So you also started to say this to wild dogs whose heads were smashed in by children, to wild cats that have been splashed with acid. You always say this when you smell fear.

Food has a similar effect, sometimes it works even better. You always have unsalted meat and fish froth, sweet candies, chocolate, milk, dried sour plums, canned cat food and dog food, but unfortunately, you have no canned devil.

Today, more and more people raise cute or funny inferior little demons, as well as succubi with fighting power of about zero but good looks. Devil's feed is also legally sold in the market. "The fresh smell of human flesh, almost real! Your cute demon is as meek as a rabbit and as elegant as a lady!" said the canned food's introduction.

This is what has happened in the past few years, conservatives are very angry and feel that this is shocking blasphemy. Hedonists don't care, "They're just processed scraps. Devil's meat, rotten mice that can't be eaten, and so on." Some people laugh and said, "Not to mention that there're so many corpses, even if they are really used as fodder feed what'll it change? God is dead!"

No one knows whether God and heaven exist, but demons and hell, humans and priests do exist. Conservatives have complained to you about the canning turmoil. You nod to them, say ambiguous words, and they choose to hear what they want to listen to. Everyone returns with satisfaction.

You spent too long in the bathroom, and now all the shops are closed, you can only wait till tomorrow to buy it.

You stretched your hand to 177 and asked, "Eat it?"

It looked at the blood on your fingertips and looked at you, frowning and motionless.

You confronted each other for a while, it looked at your eyes like a farmer suddenly finding a purple sheep in its flock, but it was at least not as nervous as just now. You retracted your hand and motioned for 177 to pass its arm. It froze for a while and slowly did so.

You pull out the silver chain that had been cut into the wound and wrapped it with a bandage. You separate 177's legs to check, it's not bleeding as much anymore, which is good. You stand up and check all the details to make sure that 177 won't hurt itself, cause damage, or escape. After making sure that there's nothing left, you nodded and left the bathroom.

____

PastTimer: Whenever I want to procrastinate, I try translating ASPMGB to stress myself again