The fire on the iron chains binding the demon was already quite weak, nearly extinguished by the cold several times, only to sway and flicker back to life again.

Dylan Foster heard Grace Walker's tearful, incoherent voice: "Can you come out... sob... Director Brooks and the others found a... a forum post, it was deleted not long after being posted... Director Foster, could you say something? I'm scared..."

Gavin Carter shook his head. "You look quite young. If you were an ordinary little demon, you probably wouldn't have gained sentience yet. But you've already fully taken human form, and I can't see your true body. You must be a natural-born spirit. Before the internal strife among your demon clan, most natural-born spirits were already gone—one less is one less, what a pity. Go on."

Dylan Foster forced his numb lips to move, squeezing out a few words with a forced smile: "Say something."

Grace Walker: "..."

Dylan Foster took a deep breath and said, word by word, "Don't start wailing yet, you're still breathing. What post? Read it."

Grace Walker: "Help: I feel like my son is no longer my son."

Author's note: Note: 鲮鲤 refers to a pangolin.

Chapter 8

After listening, Dylan Foster felt it sounded familiar, and then realized he had come across this post on the plane. He had only glanced at it, received a barrage of "lunatic" and "internet shill" insults on behalf of the original poster, and before he could read any follow-up, it had disappeared.

Grace Walker naturally had a soft, delicate voice, afraid he wouldn't hear her. While struggling to push forward against the unbearable chill, she roughly recited the post.

Then she added, "Later, the original poster replied once, but it was deleted as soon as it was posted. The gist was that she considered herself a failed mother, would secretly go through her child's things while he was at school. Recently, there have been some strange symbols in her son's diary. At first, it was just ballpoint pen doodles, and she didn't think much of it. But lately, the symbols have become more frequent, and yesterday, they were even drawn in blood, covering the whole notebook. It was terrifying to look at. The child's behavior has also become increasingly odd. She even took photos of those images... I... hiss..."

Grace Walker tasted blood, and her nose felt itchy. She reached up and realized she had two streams of nosebleed running down without knowing when it started. The cold, damp air had torn the mucous membranes in her nose and mouth. She really couldn't go any further. With effort, she pushed, and the laptop slid across the smooth floor to the doorway, stopping there with the screen facing into the room.

Before Dylan Foster could turn around to see, Gavin Carter had already spoken first.

He softly, almost sighing, "read out" the sacrificial text, then remarked, "Ah, this is interesting."

"What?" Grace Walker didn't understand what he was saying, but as soon as the sound brushed past her ears, she instinctively shivered like a small animal encountering a natural enemy. "Did he—did he just speak? Is he chatting or cursing me?"

"Tell Old Brooks," Dylan Foster forced his jaw open, "the demon says what's written there is 'Help.'"

When Zachary Brooks heard this, he was stunned for a few seconds, then suddenly realized what Dylan Foster meant, his hair standing on end: "Find that boy! Have the local branch bring him in immediately, by any means necessary! Hurry!"

The process of sacrificing a "living offering" definitely isn't as simple as running around with a kitchen knife killing people. In daily life, "unnatural death" isn't a high-probability event, but if you look at the whole country, the number of "abnormal deaths" is still quite considerable.

As a "living offering," it's impossible to be so "ordinary." Their deaths must be more complicated, more brutal, which increases the difficulty of the operation.

And the mastermind behind it couldn't possibly commit crimes in just one place, because this isn't a small number. If the number of accidental disappearances and deaths in the same area suddenly spikes in a short time, it would definitely attract the attention of all kinds of local security departments.

Suppose "a thousand people" for the sacrifice isn't just an estimate, but literally a thousand people. To sacrifice that many within a lunar month, you'd have to kill over thirty people a day— even a slaughterhouse might not be that efficient.

Not to mention, the killings would have to be done in various ways.

So how is it accomplished?

Either the mastermind is a huge organization with ample funds and manpower—which is unlikely. As Dylan Foster said, people with money, ability, and social status have plenty of ways to solve problems. Who would bother with something this crazy?

Or... the "living offerings" being sacrificed don't appear to be dead or missing at all, but are still living among the crowd as if nothing is wrong.

"Records Department!" Zachary Brooks roared, "Focus on cases related to 'parasitism'!"

Outside the hospital's family lounge, Grace Walker wiped her nosebleed and asked in a muffled voice, "Director Foster, what does 'Help' really mean? What did Director Brooks understand?"

"The one who wrote the 'sacrificial text'..." Dylan Foster forced out each word, never having spoken so briefly in his life, "is the 'offering.'"

If this boy isn't some thousand-year-old ghost who can write ancient evil sacrificial texts from memory, then how could he draw these symbols?

Only if he has already become the "offering."