Chapter 345: Allen Frightens Off the Demon Nun
Beneath the white cloth was a very old-fashioned oil painting.
It depicted the portrait of a nun.
"Hmm..."
Allen rubbed his chin, scrutinizing the oil painting.
It looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't recall where he'd seen it.
"If you've got no talent, stop embarrassing yourself out here."
Crossing his arms into his armpits, Allen pulled out a full set of cosmetics. A smug grin curled on his lips. "Looks like it's time for me, the soul of abstract art, to step in and give this a makeover."
As for where the makeup came from—he'd dug it out of the master bedroom last night while pranking the undead.
The events of that night… well, let's just say it was a traumatic memory for the spirits.
While Allen was happily vandalizing the nun's portrait, a figure stepped out from the shadows in the corner.
Because of the lighting, only the lower half of the figure was visible. The upper half remained hidden in darkness, silently moving toward the painting.
Engrossed in his artistic endeavor, Allen was oblivious to the danger approaching.
"Perfect!"
Before long, the painting had undergone a complete transformation.
"Looking at it now, the artistic value is, like, three or four stories high."
Pleased with the results, Allen held up the painting. The approaching figure abruptly froze—because the oil painting was a medium that reflected reality. To affect the real world, the two had to be perfectly synchronized.
Thanks to Allen's artistic enhancements, the nun no longer looked solemn and composed. Instead, she now had a comical, festive vibe.
Flaming red lips, like the round rouge painted on paper dolls. Freckles dotting her eye sockets courtesy of the brow pencil. The lashes were intricately detailed, and he'd even thoughtfully drawn in wispy bangs on her forehead.
If the original portrait gave off an oppressive, unsettling aura, the current version radiated absurd, inexplicable cheer no matter the angle.
"I'm a disciple of the Führer School of Abstract Art—this masterpiece will definitely fetch a fortune someday."
Thinking of his lofty aspirations, Allen confidently signed his name.
Renowned Abstract Artist: Master Allen Lun
He placed the painting back on the easel.
Not noticing anything amiss, Allen turned to leave the attic.
Strolling toward the door, he casually reached for the handle—only to find it completely stuck.
"Rusty?"
He examined the doorknob, puzzled. "It worked fine a moment ago."
At that moment, the shadow aligned perfectly with the painting. Pale, cracked hands gripped the frame, and a blurry figure seemed ready to break free from the shadows and enter the physical world.
"Something's up."
Feeling a sudden chill on his back, Allen whipped around—only to see a figure in a nun's black habit, holding the portrait in place of her head, staring directly at him.
But no matter how you looked at it, thanks to the makeup job, the painting was anything but scary.
"A demon nun?!"
The image instantly reminded Allen of a high-rated horror film.
There was a scene in that movie exactly like this.
The only problem was—Allen didn't watch normal movies. His focus was the "adult horror-action" genre.
Specifically, he had vivid memories of a five-part series documenting the demon nun's… humiliating experiences.
It's worth mentioning: Allen took his reviews very seriously.
Acting: -5 stars.
Costume design: A sky full of stars.
As the demon nun slowly approached, Allen backed against the door, raising a tube of lipstick.
The nun halted in confusion. Her golden-glowing eyes fixed on him, clearly trying to figure out what this lunatic was up to.
Allen puckered his lips into a dainty blossom shape and began applying the "Death Barbie Pink" lipstick shade.
Smack!
He pressed his lips together to even out the color.
"Come on, baby."
"…"
With his lips puckered high, eyes fluttering with seductive glances, Allen looked absurdly eager.
Back then, he could only drool from behind the screen.
Now that the real thing was in front of him, Allen was ready to confront his own weakness.
Faced with this, the demon nun hesitated.
What the hell is wrong with this guy?
She was a demon, for God's sake. Couldn't she get some basic respect?
Allen tilted his head, urging her to hurry up, completely ignoring her feelings.
But in the end, the demon nun backed off, retreating slowly into the shadows.
"Don't run!"
Allen loved ghost girls.
This was a rare opportunity—no way he was letting it go.
Last time, he had pulled out all the stops to woo Sadako.
He dashed forward like lightning, charging at the painting.
But the demon nun retreated even faster. In the blink of an eye, the painting was back on the easel, and her true form vanished into the shadows.
"Ahh…"
Allen held the painting, looking regretful. "Come on, Sister Nun—I'm a sinner. I carry guilt. I need redemption… purification… the naughty kind. Just give me one chance to be reborn…"
Unfortunately, no matter how hard he pleaded, there was no response.
---
At that same moment, far away at the University of Chicago, Lorraine was giving a lecture on the paranormal when she suddenly felt lightheaded.
Her husband Ed, who was in charge of running the slideshow, rushed to support her.
They were none other than the famous demon-banishing duo—the Warrens. The only exorcists officially recognized by the Church.
They'd solved hundreds of paranormal cases, and their storeroom was filled with cursed items.
"Lorraine, is it a vision?"
"Yes, Ed."
Eyes closed, Lorraine pressed her temples to ease the symptoms. "I sensed an ancient, malevolent demon has surfaced."
The students in the audience stared blankly, thinking the couple were just putting on an act.
After all, these were college students—"educated people" who believed in science, not superstition.
"In Los Angeles. We have to go."
"I'll make arrangements immediately."
---
Allen trudged out of the attic, visibly dejected.
The gathered spirits all twitched at the sight of his bright pink lips—it was impossible to ignore.
"Uncle Ban."
Allen slung an arm around Uncle Ban's shoulder and sighed. "I was this close to purging a horror on the spot."
"What did you see in there?"
All the ghosts perked up their ears, curious about the secret behind the attic's isolation.
"A nun in black stockings."
"…Huh!?"
The spirits didn't believe him. They'd been stuck in that haunted house for years and had seen plenty of homeowners come and go from the attic without issue. That only made them more curious.
However, once a resident died in the house, their memory of the attic vanished.
Seeing no one believed him, Allen couldn't be bothered to explain. He just crawled into the master bedroom for a nap, calling out, "Wake me up when it's time to eat."
The ghosts exchanged glances, left with no choice but to go along.
Thankfully, he wasn't the homeowner—otherwise, he'd treat them like slaves.
---
Dinner time.
Bruce sat at the table in a slump, his face blank like an Alzheimer's patient.
"Lussie, pull yourself together."
Allen spoon-fed him, gently lifting his chin to help him chew, while muttering nonchalantly, "It's not a big deal. I've been with a woman over five thousand years old."
Of course, that five-thousand-year-old woman was Wonder Woman.
Bruce's eyes lit up a little, wanting to hear more.
"She's a demigod, forever young. I was just throwing myself at her and getting cold-shouldered."
Allen kept feeding him as he bragged about his glorious past.
Demigod. Eternal youth.
Bruce fell back into despair. The ancient Greek lady he tried to kiss wasn't even in the same league.
"Sure, I was chasing her around shamelessly," Allen scoffed, "but give it a few years…"
"What happens in a few years?" Bruce couldn't help but ask.
"When I'm strong enough, I'll chase her down and lick her butt with pride."
"…"
Still a simp. Just a hardcore one now.
Dignity? Never heard of it.
Ring ring ring…
The landline phone suddenly rang.
Allen put down the spoon and answered casually, "Moshi moshi, I—"
"Master, help me!!"
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