SUP Chapter 16: My Stats! Above Yours!

As the evil spirit burst out, Ian’s body crumpled to the ground, twisted and blackened, clearly heavily "poisoned," with dark purple, web-like patterns crawling across his skin.

Even his mouth frothed with bubbles.

Being directly possessed and eroded by an evil spirit was no small harm to a human.

Most wouldn’t survive.

"Quick, Constantine!" Charles, seeing the spirit emerge, shouted and rushed toward Ian, intending to catch the collapsing boy.

But, as expected from someone associated with Constantine, Charles was less than reliable, catching nothing but the breeze from Ian’s fall.

"..."

Charles stood awkwardly, hands grasping empty air.

At that moment, "Don’t tell me what to do!" Constantine, previously stunned, reacted swiftly.

Though puzzled by the spirit’s odd behavior, he raised a freshly inscribed container—a warped thermos, now etched with a hexagram and runes. The spirit let out a deafening screech, but an invisible force dragged it toward the seemingly ordinary container.

"This is your true place, demon!" Constantine chanted sealing incantations, capturing the fleeing spirit. Black mist compressed, fully absorbed into the thermos.

"Charles! Your tea cup’s a hero!" Constantine slammed the transparent lid shut, quickly twisting it to seal the stainless steel thermos.

The hexagram glowed blood-red. Oddly, the thermos didn’t shake much, as if the spirit inside lacked the strength to struggle.

"Done!" Constantine, puzzled but relieved, exhaled.

"Another close call," Charles said, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Close call? Hahaha, we’re not done! That cursed lunatic boy’s body is completely decayed! He can’t possibly survive!" The spirit’s voice echoed, its venom laced with relief at its narrow escape.

"I’ll be waiting in hell! For you! For him!!"

It also carried fury toward Ian. Truth be told, without Constantine’s exorcism pulling it out, it might have been the first demon eaten by a lunatic human.

It shuddered at the thought.

"What lunatic boy?" Constantine glanced at the blackened, collapsed boy, frowning, anxious. He knew Ian’s condition was dire.

"You must save this innocent soul, or I’ll make you pay with me," Constantine threatened the bottled spirit to restore Ian’s life.

But the spirit remained unmoved.

"Hmph," it sneered.

As Constantine scrambled, unsure what to do, Charles nudged his arm.

"Not now, Charles!"

Constantine turned, annoyed, only to see Charles pointing, dumbfounded. Before he could look, a small hand snatched the thermos from him.

"Impossible!" The spirit’s distorted face pressed against the thermos’s transparent lid, more grotesque in shock, its soul weakened and ethereal, nearly devoured by Ian.

"How... how are you alive?" The spirit roared in disbelief. Even Constantine was stunned. The boy, just moments ago blackened and dying, now stood as if nothing happened?

Not only free of death’s door, Ian looked lively, skin rosy, strong enough to snatch the thermos and mock it viciously.

"Three minutes, and you only half-killed me? Can’t even drain half a percent of my life per second? Pathetic little spirit, laughable!" Ian’s tone dripped with sarcasm.

"You should be dead! You... what the hell are you?!" The spirit’s screams shook the thermos. It refused to see Ian as human anymore.

What human could be so freakish even a demon felt unnerved?

"Pfft! You’re the ghost, your whole family’s ghosts!" Ian, indignant at the slander, defended himself.

"This is the power of stats!"

"Stats!"

"Ever heard of my stats surpassing yours?" Ian spat venomously, clutching the thermos and shaking it furiously up, down, left, right.

He held a grudge.

Time for brutal revenge.

Superman’s son never held overnight grudges.

"I overcame my psychological discomfort, risking trauma to my young mind to chomp you, and you ran after I only ate two-thirds of you?"

"Run now! Why aren’t you running?"

Ian’s hands blurred with speed.

He was physically tormenting the spirit.

Quite effectively.

"..."

"..."

Constantine and Charles exchanged looks, their faces a mix of shock. They finally understood why the spirit called Ian a cursed lunatic boy.

"What’s going on?" Constantine swallowed hard.

He got it.

The spirit wasn’t exorcised by him?

"I don’t know... I said this kid’s scarier than a ghost, and I wasn’t wrong," Charles recalled his taxi ordeal, still shaken.

"You brought him and don’t know?" Constantine eyed his partner skeptically, but Charles just shrugged helplessly.

"I just picked up a random passenger," Charles said truthfully, though to Constantine, the odds seemed like winning the lottery.

He shot Charles a "you’re kidding me" look, then turned to Ian, now a human blender, and spoke sternly, "Kid, give me that spirit. It’s not a toy... it’s dangerous, and only a pro like me can handle it."

Constantine wanted his trophy back.

But, "Hm?"

Ian’s eyes narrowed, wary. He felt the spirit was his prize. "What came out of my body belongs to me!"

"It’s clear property rights. Trying to scam my stuff? No way! America’s sun once said, American citizens’ private property is sacred and inviolable!" Ian denounced righteously, glancing at his panel. Devouring most of the spirit had brought big gains.

[Mental: 4.2]

A rare stat boost for a [Berserker]. This solidified Ian’s resolve to "suffer" a bit more. He needed a better "cooking" method to finish the spirit.

As for [Soul Corruption]? It only slightly affected sanity and thinking. Ian didn’t even plan to remove it right away.

Others’ poison was his sweet date.

Curse?

No!

It was his shortcut to a higher occupation path! Maybe stacking negative effects could save him the daily hassle of self-harm and healing!

What’s wisdom?

This was world-shaking wisdom!

[NEXT CHAPTER]