Chapter 185: Snow Mountain: New Agent Rebecca Makes a Grand Entrance and Dominates

Chapter 185: Snowy Mountain: New Agent Rebecca Makes a Grand Entrance and Wreaks Havoc

"Knock, knock..."

After an afternoon of investigation and interrogation, it was already approaching evening. Peering through the uncurtained window, all that could be seen outside was pitch-black darkness so thick you couldn't see your hand in front of your face.

In such deep, gloomy night, the knocking continued relentlessly, repeating over and over again.

"Knock, knock... knock, knock..."

It was extremely rhythmic—each time it sounded only twice, with intervals as regular as clockwork, coming once every three or four breaths, at a volume neither too loud nor too soft, just enough to be clearly heard.

"Th-this can't be the wind and snow, can it...? There really is someone knocking outside?" the innkeeper Joshua stammered, seeking confirmation from Everly.

Yes, without a doubt, such a regular sound could never be naturally produced.

But whether it was truly a "person" remained a question mark.

With that thought, Everly turned her gaze to the only supernatural expert present: "Rebecca?"

"Mm, leave it to me."

Rebecca, who had been silent for a long while, stretched lazily and stood up. She raised her hand, slipped off a hair tie from her wrist, and tied back her tousled hair into a low ponytail.

Once the messy strands were secured, when she raised her head again, the woman's gaze suddenly turned sharp, and her lazy, languid aura transformed entirely.

Earlier, everyone had heard Lucas describe the four of them as highly mysterious, and Everly's unconventional move—pulling out a stash of hidden cameras when the deduction hit a dead end—had genuinely cowed everyone. As a result, in the imaginations of the inn's occupants, the four had already evolved from ordinary tourists into American agents passing through this area during a mission.

When they heard Everly call out Rebecca's name, everyone expected to witness the new agent Rebecca make a grand entrance and tear it up.

However, after tying her hair back in that cool manner, Rebecca didn't immediately go to open the door.

Standing at the entrance, she unzipped her down jacket, pulled out a glass bottle from an inner pocket, and while muttering incantations under her breath, used a unique technique to draw a line across the doorway and in front of the window with pink, sand-like powder from the bottle. She looked like a witch straight out of a TV show.

"Wait... what is she doing?"

The onlookers' jaws nearly hit the floor.

Rebecca paid no attention to their questions. After pouring the sand, she pulled out a small copper bell and clutched it tightly in her hand. Then, right in front of everyone, she walked to the door, turned the lock, and yanked open the tightly shut inn door.

"Whoosh—!"

The moment the door swung inward, the frigid wind outside, carrying swirling snow, blasted into the warm interior. The flames in the fireplace flickered violently, and the cold air snaked up their collars and pant legs, biting into their clothes. Caught off guard, everyone shivered and instinctively hunched their shoulders.

Strangely, despite such strong wind, the pink sand scattered at the doorstep stayed put, not moving a bit.

Once the inn's occupants adjusted to the sudden temperature change and looked outside, within the range of the doorway's light, they saw a man in ragged, battered clothes, covered in wounds, with most of his body caked in ice and snow.

The man wore thick mountaineering gear, with a shell jacket and pants over it. He had apparently fallen somewhere earlier—both his clothes and pants were torn and ragged, the bright yellow fabric stained with large splotches of blood, and on his calf, you could see a bloody wound through the torn fabric.

Aside from his clothing, the man only had a thermal hat on his head. Everything else needed for mountain activities—gloves, goggles, trekking poles, even his shoes—was gone, and there was no backpack on his hunched back either.

"Are... are you Mr. Dana?" Staring at the man's features for a moment, the innkeeper Joshua shot to his feet and exclaimed in shock.

The man outside didn't answer Joshua.

He seemed completely out of it. Even though the door was wide open, he remained rooted in place, left hand raised and extended forward, fingers bent as if to knock. With each knock, his fingers landed in exactly the same spot every time, as if an invisible "wall" truly stood before him.

To anyone who didn't know what was going on, this was beyond creepy, but Everly understood there really was a "wall" in front of the man—the defensive line Rebecca had created with Himalayan pink salt, meant to keep unclean things out.

As he knocked, the salt scattered on the ground was rapidly melting away.

"Help me... help me..." Between knocks, broken, barely audible pleas drifted from his mouth.

Only then did it hit everyone why they'd heard knocking but no voice earlier—because the guy was too weak to speak above a whisper!

Indeed, the man appeared to have trekked through the snow for a very long time, looking utterly wretched.

His eyebrows, nose, and beard were crusted with a thick layer of ice. The fingernails on his bare hands had come off, blood and ice mixed into a thick, crusty shell. His feet on the ground were badly frostbitten, toes rubbed raw and frozen to his thin socks.

Behind him, a winding trail of footprints stretched into the distance, and if you looked closely, you could see faint reddish bloodstains in the depressions.

Any half-decent person with a heart would immediately lend a hand and bring the man inside for proper treatment. It's the instinct to help each other that humans have evolved over tens of thousands of years.

At least at this moment, without thinking, the people on the sofa had already stood up, moving forward on instinct, ready to rush over and help.

However—

"Nobody move! All of you, get back in your seats." Hearing the ruckus behind her, Rebecca snapped sharply.

"What do you mean..."

"That man is clearly on the verge of collapse—why can't we help?"

The group couldn't make sense of what Rebecca was doing. They looked annoyed and didn't back off to their seats like good little sheep.

This ragtag bunch is such a pain to handle...

Seeing this, Everly let out a long sigh.

She took a long stride forward, planting herself in front of the crowd. She extended her right hand and gave it a slight flick, and a sleek, pitch-black mini pistol slid out of her sleeve and dropped into Everly's palm as smooth as silk. She flicked her thumb, clicking off the safety, and aimed the still-warm barrel at the crowd in front of her: "Do what Rebecca says. Mess with us, and none of you will live to see tomorrow's sunrise."

"Wh-what..."

The innkeeper Joshua, at the front of the crowd, found a black gun muzzle pointed directly at him. His face went white as a sheet, and he couldn't string a sentence together.

America is a country where guns are everywhere. In this country, when someone whips out a gun in public, nobody stops to ask if it's a toy—they either hit the deck with hands on their heads or scatter for cover.

Violence isn't great, but let's be real—sometimes it works way better than talking things out.

"We'd better listen to them."

Lucas, who'd been watching from the sidelines, shot a glance at Rebecca by the door and chimed in with some timely advice.

They didn't have a choice—Everly was holding a gun.

Scared of getting popped by this girl who never played by the rules, everyone took the hint and raised their hands high over their heads. Under Everly's orders, they obediently sat back on the sofa, hands on their knees, not daring to move.

While Everly was dealing with the chaos inside, at the door, Rebecca had already taken a step back and reached inside her coat, pulling out another weapon from an inner pocket—a rusty metal spike wrapped in layers of yellow oil paper and cured leather.

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, show yourself for what you are!" She recited Catholic prayers in smooth, fluent Spanish, and raised her hand to lightly run her thumb across the iron spike. Where her thumb passed, a faint glow appeared on the rusty surface.

"What?"

Before anyone inside could process what Rebecca's words meant, the young woman at the door let out a fierce shout, gripped the metal spike and shoved it forward with all her might, driving it straight into the man's face.

"Squelch!"

Despite its rusty exterior, the iron spike turned out to be surprisingly sharp. With a soft sound, the sharp point sank in like a knife through butter, burying itself to the hilt in the man's forehead.

"Ahh—!"

"What is it doing?!"

The people in the hall couldn't contain themselves and let out terrified screams.

They'd assumed that single stab would surely kill the man outside. But even with that long iron spike buried in his brain, the man just swayed in place, showing no signs of dropping.

Instead, a stream of pitch-black liquid oozed from the wound and trickled down his forehead. It was like a razor-sharp dividing line, splitting the upper half of his face clean in two.

"Help me... gurgle... help... help..." The man stood stiff as a board like a mechanical puppet, his eyes vacant, still muttering pleas for help.

The black liquid on his forehead gushed like a spring, flowing endlessly. The dark line of fluid was like a living vine, tracing from his nose bridge to his lips, down his chin, along his jawline, and sinking into his neck and collar...

As it flowed lower, the man's voice grew weaker, his words distorting like a stuck tape: "Help... help help... help help help help help..."

"Rip... rip rip rip..."

Amid the weakening pleas, another sound gradually emerged from the man's body. It was like tearing paper or stretching a piece of elastic fabric. At first it was faint, but it grew louder over time. Eventually, people realized the sound was coming from the man's face.

Ever seen a pair of pantyhose being stretched apart?

At that moment, the man's face looked like a stretched-out pair of pantyhose. Because whatever was stuffed inside was restless, his skin bulged out in finger-sized lumps, then caved in and wrinkled into folds.

"Rip... rip..."

The tearing continued, growing louder and more rapid. Within just over ten seconds, as the "thing" inside him thrashed violently, the skin of his face split open with a "pop" on both sides of the black mark, like an insect's cocoon shell.

"Help... help..." Even with his face torn in two, the man's four lips still quivered, emitting faint, almost inaudible pleas from somewhere deep inside him. The sight was horrifying and nauseating, sending chills down spines and a cold creeping up from everyone's feet.

Even more mind-breaking scenes were still ahead.

Then, from the black gash in the center of his face, a pale, thick finger with razor-sharp nails suddenly emerged. Followed by a second, a third... In the blink of an eye, two enormous, grotesque hands were pushing out from the tear.

"What... what on earth is that..."

Suddenly confronted with such a shocking image, the people in the hall went pale. The front desk girl, Minnie [Everly], leaned forward and couldn't help but vomit.

At this point, no one dared to rush forward to "help."

Everly turned sideways, swinging her gun from the crowd in the hall to the monster outside, staying on guard.

Outside the door, amid the blood-curdling sounds of flesh tearing, the terrifying hands grabbed the edges of the torn skin and yanked outward with force, all under everyone's gaze.

"Shhhhk!"

The flesh and blood beneath the skin ripped apart inch by inch. The man's entire face and head were ripped apart by the massive hands, flopping limply to either side of his shoulders. From his now-empty neck, a thick, hairy, knobby-jointed arm suddenly burst outward. Before that arm could fully emerge, another arm was already impatiently pushing halfway out of the gap.

When they first emerged from beneath the fabric-covered neck, these two arms were quite slender, until they moved away from the "black hole" at his neck and into the open space outside.

Like inflating a balloon, accompanied by the "crack crack" of bones stretching, the arms instantly swelled in size—one palm alone was nearly half a meter long.

Everly couldn't help but think of Doraemon's pocket, inappropriately enough. From that tiny pouch, one could pull out items far larger than the opening.

At that moment, the bottomless "black hole" at the man's neck had clearly become an other-dimensional pocket for the monster to crawl out of.

Following the two arms, an antler shaped like a branch emerged from the pocket. At the end of the antler was a white skull resembling a goat's head, tilted sideways as it "grew" out of the pocket, equally massive, evoking visions of some prehistoric beast.

Once the white skull cleared the pocket and returned to its true size, the other half of the antler attached to the skull's other end also emerged.

"Crack... crack crack..."

After the head came a body like withered wood, with dry, knobby joints.

...