The Great Demon Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 71: A Minor Evolution

Sherlock didn't quite understand what 'absorption' meant. He could only sense the general meaning of the tentacles' expressions, but he couldn't communicate clearly like humans.

Just like a kitten can show anger by baring its teeth and puffing out its fur, it can't tell the cat opposite it, "That little female cat you rode last week is my wife!"

So he could only look at the terrified, gouged-out demon in front of him, and then at the expectant little tentacle beside him… oh, the tentacle didn't have a face.

Anyway, he hesitated for a moment: "Alright, then it's yours."

Upon hearing this, the tentacle immediately seemed very happy, twisting and turning against Sherlock's cheek.

"Okay, okay~" Sherlock helplessly pushed it away.

Actually, Sherlock didn't have any desire to skin and rip the demon alive for revenge; he wasn't some heartless doctor.

He always considered himself a law-abiding citizen…

The reason he preferred stuffing prisoners into suitcases was because they were convenient to carry. Subduing a criminal required some bloodshed, and carrying a bloodied person through the streets would certainly deter any carriage.

And he couldn't carry the criminal all the way to the London police station.

So stuffing them into a suitcase was the simplest and most practical method.

As for the demon before him, although it had ruined his interest in the case and frustrated him for hours, it was still a demon. No matter how much he questioned it, it wouldn't write him an apology, and besides writhing around, it couldn't do anything else.

This one-sided violence had absolutely no interest in the kind-hearted Mr. Holmes.

He might as well leave it to these adorable little tentacles and see what they were up to.

As his thoughts drifted, hundreds of tiny tendrils surged from all directions, like jet-black hairs, completely surrounding the little demon.

Then… they slowly approached and began to burrow into its body.

The scene was strange. Although these tendrils were incredibly thin, even swaying slightly in the wind, they penetrated the demon's body with remarkable ease. The instant the first tendril pierced through, the gouged-out demon seemed to be subjected to indescribable pain, beginning to struggle or rather, convulse frantically.

This involuntarily reminded Sherlock of the tentacle that had descended from the heavens not long ago, from the evil sun in the distant universe, which had pierced the head of a corpse dog, and that corpse dog had also seemed to exhibit this kind of pain beyond the limits of sanity.

Of course, individuals cannot truly empathize, so Sherlock only saw the demon trembling madly before him. Then, he saw a second, a third, and countless more tendrils begin to burrow into its body.

More and more, denser and denser, like thousands of spiderwebs interwoven in a 360-degree, three-dimensional network, with the little demon as the common center of all the webs.

During this time, the poor little creature endured unimaginable t*****e; all its limbs were now outstretched and trembling, perhaps its sanity had collapsed. But clearly, this was not yet over.

Because the tendrils began to slowly wriggle, sucking, gradually reducing the little demon's body in the center to the finest, most viscous fluid.

If Watson were here, witnessing this scene of t*****e, he would surely cast an approving glance at these tiny tendrils.

After about the time it takes to smoke a cigarette, the imp's body gradually shriveled up until it became a mere shell. Then, its tentacles scattered, falling to the ground with a soft thud. All its internal tissues had been completely absorbed, and a gust of wind carried it far away, eventually colliding with several coiled tentacles, where it was reflexively swallowed and vanished without a trace.

Sherlock frowned. Clearly, these tentacles had demonstrated to him what 'absorption' truly meant.

But what changes would occur to these little creatures after absorption?

Soon, the surrounding 'black tide' collectively gave Sherlock a response.

The response roughly meant… 'fear'.

…Meanwhile, in another location in Hell, about five blocks away from Sherlock…

That area was where expansion was most significantly hindered. As mentioned before, it was teeming with demons with spiky shells, occupying half the street. These demons resembled turtles, with thick limbs and small heads almost retracted into their bodies. They rarely moved, usually just huddled together on the ground.

And within the domain… they were even less mobile.

But immobility didn't mean they weren't annoying. These creatures didn't obediently become food for the tentacles; they could also defend and retaliate in a way that resembled instinct. Upon approaching, they would shoot extremely sharp spikes from their shells, and if close enough, these spikes would rapidly twist and turn.

This meant the carrion hounds couldn't find a place to bite, and their tentacles couldn't find a place to burrow inside.

This awkward situation had persisted for several days, with no progress.

And just then… a burst of rapid running sounds suddenly came from afar.

Several carrion dogs were charging towards them...

The carrion dogs, already prone on the ground and covered in shells, shrank further into their shells. This scene had played out countless times, with the same result.

The carrion dogs would howl, their tentacles would crawl around them, but to no avail.

This would continue indefinitely...

However, these demons lacked intelligence; they only knew how to lie still, so they didn't notice the carrion dogs getting closer, nor did they notice the strange red glow emanating from the depths of their pupils.

Fear began to stir imperceptibly...

...Meanwhile, in the real world.

Several police officers finally opened the doors of the steam train carriages.

The stench of blood and the filth of intestines, simmering for most of the night, had perfectly blended into a suffocating odor, which surged out the moment the doors opened, nearly making the officers outside vomit.

The next second, a horrifying scene unfolded before everyone's eyes: not only corpses, but also internal organs and thick, sticky feces spilling out, mingling with the surrounding blood to create a grotesque and unsettling sight.

"Ugh—" Finally, someone couldn't hold back their nausea and began to vomit, leaning against the carriage.

"Quick...quick, contact White Thorn Security Company...!!"