63: Chapter 63 The Silent Santa Claus

Qin Ming picked up a blanket and covered him with it.

"Have sweet dreams; may there be no killer clowns in them."

Emma was sitting on the carpet, combing her doll's hair.

Seeing this scene, she simply blinked, long since accustomed to it.

"Is he here?"

"At the door."

Qin Ming walked to the center of the living room and straightened his collar.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

A dull knocking sound rang out.

It didn't sound like a hand knocking; it felt more like some heavy object was striking the door panel.

Qin Ming didn't move.

A few seconds later.

No one came to open the door.

The guest outside seemed to have lost his patience.

There was no sound of the door being violently broken down.

Instead, a palm wearing a filthy glove suddenly pressed against the living room window glass.

That black-and-white clown face pressed against the glass, distorting as it squished, revealing a hair-raising smile.

He was waving.

As if greeting an old friend.

Click.

He easily picked the window lock from the outside using some thin wire.

Art pushed open the window and flipped inside silently, like a nimble giant spider.

He patted the dust off himself.

He dragged a heavy black trash bag behind him, leaving a dark red trail on the floor.

Art looked around the cozy living room.

His gaze lingered on the slumbering Robert for a second, and he made a mocking grimace.

Then.

He looked at Qin Ming.

Art reached out, palm up, and beckoned with his fingers.

It was a gesture demanding something.

He wanted back the "Surprise Gift Box" he had lost in the mall.

Qin Ming looked at this immortal demon from "Terrifier."

That aura of chaos, evil, and delight in torture caused the divine energy within Qin Ming to begin stirring.

"You want a gift?"

Qin Ming's voice was so calm it didn't sound like he was facing a serial killer.

Art nodded frantically.

He pressed his hands together and placed them against his cheek, making a cute "please" gesture that, combined with his terrifying face, created a massive sense of dissonance.

"Since it's Christmas."

"We really should exchange gifts."

Qin Ming reached into his pocket.

Art immediately prepared himself.

His other hand quietly tightened around the saw behind his back; as long as what Qin Ming pulled out wasn't a bomb, he would immediately saw this annoying brat in half.

What Qin Ming pulled out was a red-and-white sphere.

It was only the size of a tennis ball.

There was a circular button in the middle.

Art froze.

He tilted his head and pointed at the ball, his face filled with the confusion of "what the hell is this?"

It didn't look like a bomb.

It looked more like some cheap children's toy.

"This is for you."

Qin Ming smiled slightly.

"A playmate."

"A friend who, like you, doesn't like to talk but is very enthusiastic."

Qin Ming pressed the center button.

The ball enlarged in his hand.

"I choose you!"

With a flick of Qin Ming's wrist, the red-and-white ball traced a graceful arc through the air and landed on the floor in front of Art.

"Crystal Lake Boy."

Bang!

Accompanied by a burst of white smoke.

The temperature in the living room dropped sharply.

An odor of damp earth and the fishy stench of rotting lake water spread through the air.

The smoke cleared.

A massive figure stood tall next to the Christmas tree.

He was over two meters tall.

Wearing a tattered work jacket.

On his face was an iconic hockey mask that had originally been white but was now yellowed and covered in black stains.

Jason Voorhees.

In his hand, he carried a broad machete, the dark red rust on the blade looking like dried scabs of blood.

Art's frame, which was only about 1.7 meters tall, seemed somewhat frail in front of this hulking killing machine.

The smile on Art's face vanished.

He looked up at this giant who had appeared out of thin air.

For the first time, Art felt confused.

What is this?

Magic?

Jason's hockey mask turned stiffly, and his hollow eye sockets locked onto the clown in front of him, who was dressed like a joke.

"Roar..."

A low rumble came from Jason's throat, like an old diesel engine starting up.

Art took a step back.

He looked at the half-meter-long machete in Jason's hand.

Then he looked at the small, rusty hand saw in his own hand.

Art fell silent.

He turned his head to look at Qin Ming, pointed at Jason, then pointed at himself, making a "Are you kidding me?" gesture.

Qin Ming sat on the arm of the sofa with his legs crossed.

"You can start unwrapping your gift now, Mr. Art."

"If you don't like it."

"You can try to return it."

"However..."

"I think customer service might be a bit difficult to talk to."

Art blinked.

He looked at the small, rust-covered hand saw in his hand.

The serrated edge was only a few centimeters long.

He looked again at the massive, heavy machete in Jason's hand, which was a full half-meter long.

Art's exaggerated smile froze on his face.

He slowly hid the hand saw behind his back.

Then.

He extended a finger and gently poked the chest of Jason's tattered work jacket.

It was rock hard.

Like poking a steel plate.

Art immediately pulled his hand back, made an "it hurts" expression, and even blew on his finger.

But this did not amuse the giant in front of him.

Jason's head tilted slightly.

The movement didn't look like thinking; it was more like a beast assessing how much effort it would take to bite through its prey.

Qin Ming sat on the arm of the sofa, his fingers lightly tapping his knee.

Watching the scene, a playful curve formed at the corners of his mouth.

"It seems you two are getting along quite well."

Qin Ming's voice broke the stalemate.

Art snapped his head toward Qin Ming, gesturing frantically with his hands, pointing at Jason, and then making a throat-slitting motion, seemingly protesting the unfairness of this duel.

This was simply cheating.

This was a dimensional strike.

Qin Ming ignored the clown's protest.

He took a deep breath, his Adam's apple moving slightly.

The next second.

An old, raspy voice, carrying a certain neurotic maternal love and madness, abruptly rang out in the warmly decorated living room.

The voice didn't come from Qin Ming.

Instead, it seemed to come from all directions, from the deepest depths of Jason's soul.

"Jason..."

"Ki-ki-ki... ma-ma-ma..."

Jason, who had been perfectly still, suddenly shuddered.

In those dead eyes, a fierce red light suddenly erupted.

He began to breathe rapidly.

His chest heaved violently.

He heard it; it was Mother's voice.

"The bad boy is right in front of you, Jason."

Qin Ming opened his mouth slightly, but the voice was ethereal and drifting, perfectly replicating Pamela Voorhees's voice.

"He's a bad seed."

"He wants to hurt our home."

"Punish him."

Jason's grip on the machete tightened suddenly.

His knuckles cracked.

He turned around and locked onto the clown in front of him.

But Mother's voice rang out again.

Carrying a stern reprimand.

"No, Jason."

"Not in here."

"Look at this beautiful floor, look at these newly hung lights."

Qin Ming's eyes swept over the slumbering Robert nearby, his tone becoming gentle yet eerie.

"Mother taught you."

"Throw the trash outside."

"If you get the house dirty, Mother will be angry."

Jason's body stiffened for a moment.

He clearly understood.

The next moment.

Jason moved.

No fancy techniques.

Just pure power.

He reached out with a massive hand covered in liver spots and scars and grabbed Art by the neck.

Like an adult grabbing a struggling little chicken.

Art's feet left the ground.

(Smart brains are taking the high ground again)

(I bet someone will comment like that)