There was another explosion in the distance before the words came down. There was also the sound of fierce gunfire and exchange of fire. Soldiers no longer speak, set up weapons and began to shoot at the dark, as if attacking an invisible beast.

"Get up, come on!"

Hoffa gave Norbert a scorching kick and held out his hand.

"Phantom shift."

"Damn..."

Norbert got up from the ground in a hurry and grabbed Hoffa's wrist.

The sky was lit up again by the fire. Norbert didn't hesitate. He grabbed Hoffa by the wrist with his backhand.

Crackle!

With a bang, the two disappeared in place.

Leaving a group of soldiers with guns darting into the dark, the orange bullets like countless bright yellow lightning in the air.

Urban area. Norbert and Hoffa stumbled out of the phantom. At the moment, air raid sirens are flooding the streets of Paris.

Pedestrians on the road fled, and a large number of fruits and vegetables were trampled on the streets. Some of the horses tied to the posts roared with fear.

Soldiers in the streets and alleys jumped into jeeps one after another. More than a dozen military jeeps, with dazzling spotlights on, galloped through the streets, rolling up a lot of dust.

"Go, go! Hurry up

Norbert urged ahead.

Hoffa is in a hurry to catch up with the fast running Norbert.

Norbert skillfully took Hoffa to turn left and right and got into a narrow alley. Here, he opened a heavy wooden door of the church and pushed Hoffa in.

When the thick wooden door was closed, the alarm outside dropped.

This is probably the corridor used by a Catholic Church to transport goods. It looks quite clean.

Norbert leaned against the door and gasped heavily. Then he kicked the trash can in anger.

"These damned Muggles will not be clean for a few days."

Scraps of paper were flying, and Norbert lost his temper in the church tunnel.

Hoffa looked at his irascible companion, lost in thought. Now it's 1942. The center of the Muggle conflict has shifted to the Soviet Union. Why did it suddenly start fighting again.

After thinking about it, he didn't come up with a clue.

Norbert was still annoyed: "well, with the phantom transformation, those stationed German witches noticed what to do?"

"Being aware of it doesn't mean you can find it right away."

Hoffa comforted: "we still have time to run."

"Run, run again. Where do you want to go this time, Antarctica?"

Norbert said in a sullen voice.

Hoffa was amused: "to go to the south pole, you have to find the stolen weapons first, and lead the way."

They walked along the narrow tunnel. The tunnel is not empty. Not far away, they saw a black man sitting in a chair drinking beer. The black man also said hello to Norbert as he passed by.

Gradually, more and more people gathered in the tunnel.

Some of these people are tired and lazy, their eyes are not good, and their faces show fierce light. They are either shouting to drink or wiping their weapons. It's a guy who lives in the black zone.

Some were dressed in monastery clothes and dressed like priests. They stood on wooden boxes, chanting Elegies and promoting religion and belief.

When they reached the corner of the tunnel, a black man with tattoos on his arms came out from the other corner. He had two sharp blades in his waist. He had an assault rifle on his back.

"Hey, Hoffa. Hey, Norbert

The strong black man said hello to Hoffa in English.

"Yo, Gump."

Hoffa nodded briefly to him.

"Did you just see the explosion outside?"

Asked the tall black man with a lingering fear.

Hoffa nodded: "see."

"I haven't played for a long time. Why did I start again today?"

"It's wartime. It's not strange to fight anywhere."

Said Hoffa.

"It seems that's the same reason..."

the black man pondered for a moment and then asked curiously, "where are you going so late?"

Hoffa did not answer.

"Find Durant."

Norbert replied.

"You go to him, too?"

The black man asked in surprise as he walked.

"Why, someone else is looking for him."

Asked Norbert.

"I've heard that the Ministry of magic has been sending for him recently."

"The Ministry of magic sent for Durant?"

Norbert's eyes widened.

"Almost."

The black man replied, "that's what happened two days ago. Two days ago, one of my staff received a wizard from England at the station. She got off the bus and asked Durant where he was.""What's going on?" Norbert asked warily

"Do you think those people will tell me?"

The Negro shrugged: "I'm not interested either. I have nothing to do with you English people."

After that, he got out of a corridor at the corner of the tunnel and disappeared at the end of the corridor.

After the black friend left, Norbert's face became a bit cloudy and sunny: "the Ministry of magic is looking for Durant. What do you think?"

Hoffa pondered for a moment and frowned:

"Durant is greedy for life and is afraid of death. In case the Ministry of magic finds him, he will have to spread the news about our private weapons."

Norbert: the Ministry knows you're here. What do they want

"Who knows, but in any case, we should find him before the Ministry of magic."

...

...

after half an hour.

Hoffa and Norbert came out of the tunnel one after the other.

They came to the East 20 of the city.

Now the rain has stopped, and a huge half moon is hanging in the sky.

In the blue and black night of France, churches and monasteries are towering like clouds. The spires of those ancient buildings are covered with strange statues. They present a strange appearance in the night.

The chaos in the outer city has not yet spread to this side, but it looks calm here. I can only occasionally hear some firecracker like gunshots in the distance.

But it was common in wartime.

Two people around a blown up ruins of the monastery, came to a corner of the city, a dilapidated bar.

The flickering neon lights are on and off.

At the door of the bar, several black men with guns were checking in and out of the crowd.

Hoffa swung his arm, turned into a mouse, jumped out of his palm, got into the bar in the blink of an eye, and disappeared among several black people.

Aware of Hoffa and noble coming, the black men with rifles immediately gathered around with fierce faces.

"Give me all the weapons."

Norbert drew the pistol and put it on the black man's hand.

The Negroes were not satisfied. Pressing Norbert and Hoffa against the wall was a mess.

Hoffa and Norbert did not resist, open arms to accept similar aircraft security checks after they entered the bar completely unaffected.

The bar was filled with a strong and strange smell, a group of white people were blushing, their necks were thick, and the air was filled with a choking smell of smoke. Among the crowd, there were some hostesses with exposed bodies and heavy makeup. Most of them were young, with numb smiles on their faces.

There is a dance floor in the middle of the bar. In the middle of the dance floor, there are several black beauties and white women dancing pole dance with their upper body bare. There were francs and marks at their feet.

This kind of atmosphere huofa has long been familiar with. In the coming and going thighs, he bent down in the crowd and pretended to tie his shoelaces.

A black mouse sprang out of the darkness, returned to Hoffa's arm, and became a magic glove again.

He stood up, and nober pressed his shoulder and said in a low voice:

"wait for me first. I'll go to Durant and give you a signal when I find him. The guy hasn't seen you. Let's surprise him."

Hoffa nodded, didn't say much, and went straight to the bar.

Norbert, on the other hand, disappeared into the dancing crowd.

Behind the bar, a rickety old black bartender wiped his glass. When he saw Hoffa coming, he habitually asked, "what would you like?"

Just at this moment, a tall woman came out of the dark. Sitting next to Hoffa.

"Whiskey, please."

So Hoffa said, "give me a whisky."

So the bartender put on two glasses of whisky with ice. The tall woman next to him took the glass and laughed. She took the glass and touched Hoffa's glass.

"Good evening."

She said it in French.

"Good evening."

Hoffman did not laugh. He raised the glass, dipped his lips in the wine, and put it back.

"You don't seem very old."

The woman said with a smile.

"Not bad."

Hoffa said with a polite smile.

"Where are you from? Do you come out to play alone?"

The atmosphere in France is very open. In other words, the atmosphere in bars is very open.

"Work, not play."

Hoffa appears honest and distant.

He's not used to drinking, and he's too lazy to chat with others. He may have more important things to do later, so he must stay absolutely sober.

"What kind of work to do in a bar?"

The woman put her hand on Hoffa's shoulder, looking very curious.

Hoffa raised his eyelids, looked at the palm of his shoulder, and then at the owner. This is a very strange looking bald woman, wearing gray clothes, high nose and big eyes, beautiful, but also very beautiful.But it is because the other side is very good-looking, he felt that some abnormal, according to reason, most beautiful girls will not take the initiative.

He said slowly, "you really care a lot."

Bald woman is not angry, she shrugged and let go, "you are still very cold."

With that, she took her glass and bypassed him.

Hoffa didn't care about this episode, but when the bald woman left, he noticed a strange peeping feeling. He couldn't help looking back, but didn't notice who was staring at him. Everyone was immersed in the world of alcohol and sex.

He shook his head and calmed down.

People come and go in the bar, maybe they think too much.

In this way, Hoffa sat on the high stool for half an hour. No matter who saw this picture, he didn't have any interest, but only attracted the attention of the bartender.

The bartender looked at the strange looking young man in front of him.

I saw the guy sitting on the high pedal, drooping eyelids, fingers regularly point to the table, in front of a glass of whisky with ice. But at the moment, the ice in the amber wine is about to melt, and there are dense drops of water on the glass.

Since half an hour ago, this guy came in and sat in the same place without saying a word. He was very perfunctory when people chatted with him, but he gave him a glass of whisky with ice, and he didn't move from beginning to end.

The bartender is on the alert.

Most of the people here are red faced, smoking cigarettes, complaining about life and war, and looking like they are drunk and waiting to die. Occasionally, there is a guy who deliberately pretends to be deep. When he meets a beautiful woman, he shows his true colors.

After working in this kind of place for many years, he can clearly distinguish which people are deliberately pretending to be cool to attract other people's attention, and which people are really abnormal.

Although the young man in front of him was young, he had a kind of rare soberness and indifference on his face. At first sight, he was the kind of rare guy who didn't drink. Why do these guys come to the bar?

Finally, the bartender couldn't help it. He put down the cup which he had wiped many times and said intentionally or unintentionally:

"the days are really terrible. Every day there are massacres, bombings and dead people. If you want me to say, when will this kind of day end?"

"What's it to do with you?" Hoffa replied, drooping his head

"Why doesn't it matter?"

The bartender said intentionally or unintentionally: "this world is too dangerous. If you want to live a few more days, you have to think more."

"Bear it for a few years, and you may be free."

He answered absentmindedly, thinking about how Norbert had been looking for Durant for so long.

"Are you waiting here?"

The bartender pointed out the reason why Hoffa sat down.

"Aha."

"Don't you drink it?"

The bartender pointed to the whisky in front of Hoffa.

"You must drink when you come to the bar?"

Hoffa asked listlessly.

"Isn't it?"

The bartender pushed his dark lips around.

Just at this moment, a male customer rushed into the dance floor, holding a stripper and began to kiss. He's probably very rich. He hired a lot of people to open champagne underneath. The dancer screamed, but her voice was drowned in the sound of the bubbling of champagne.

Bartender: "look, that's normal."

Hoffa impatiently took out a few Franc notes and pushed them over, trying to stop the annoying guy with money. Unexpectedly, his hand was pressed heavily by the bartender on the way.

Bang!

The bartender pressed the back of Hoffa's hand and said in a low voice, "don't pretend. You're not here to drink, are you?"

Looking at the dark palm on the back of his hand, Hoffa was slightly surprised at first, and then grinned and sneered: "why, do you even care about the purpose of customers in your bar?"

In a word, a fierce light flashed on the black man's face. He reached under the counter, where there was an old pager: "do you know whose territory this is?"

Aware of each other's small action, Hoffa didn't care at all. He tilted his head. "How much money did Durant give you? Do you care so much about him?"

The bartender picked up the pager, looked at Hoffa, and said without blinking, "come in, there's a strange guy here."

He was going to let the guy in front of him go away, but when he said that, he felt something was wrong. The young man was looking at himself with a banter.

Then he turned around, but he found that he was holding a wine bottle for some reason.

Such an abnormal and absurd scene made him throw the wine bottle like an electric shock and reach for the shotgun hanging on the wall.

Just as he was about to draw a gun, a dull roar came from a distance.

Roar!!

With the roar, a figure, like a shell, crashed down from the second floor. He smashed the railings, banged on the dance floor and smashed a pile of wine bottles.Glass and sawdust splashing.

Playing cards and notes floated slowly down from the sky.

Everyone in the bar was stunned by the sudden scene.

The coquettish dancer shrank behind the steel tube in fright. Several people watching the dancing were bubbling down from the corners of their mouths. The card players were sitting in the same place holding the cards.

It was quiet for about three seconds.

The waitresses with the plates responded. They threw away the plates, covered their heads and screamed.

High pitched shrieks are like the fuse that ignites chaos.

It took only a second for the bar to fall into complete chaos.

The bartender whipped up his shotgun. Hoffa stood up and punched the black bartender on the nose.

The poor bartender's Insurance hasn't been opened yet. He was knocked to the ground with this blow and fainted with a gushing nose blood.

Then Hoffa rushed to the center of the mess.

Just left, nobo was lying in the middle of a pile of broken boards, his left arm twisted into a strange arc, and his mouth was coughing up blood.

On his chest, five huge wounds were engraved, as if he had been scratched by a beast.

Hoffa was shocked and squatted down.

"Hey, old man, what's the matter with you?"

"Cough... It's ok..."

Norbert looked askance at Hoffa and struggled to prop himself up from the ground.

"Durant, that guy, is a werewolf."