Chapter 12

A pink flesh ball pokes its head out from the man’s shirt pocket and looks back.

In the sky, a heavy dark cloud flutters with a thunderous sound, rolling in. The already gloomy sky is almost dyed black by it. The cloud sprinkles fine powder, resembling a torrential downpour.

The man glances back, his pupils slightly trembling.

The trees engulfed by the heavy rain are rapidly withering and drying up. The flock of crows soaring into the sky vanishes into the deep, endless clouds like drops in the ocean.

Tiny wings, seemingly weak, can stir up hurricanes on the other side of the Earth. At this moment, in this place, countless dark moths gather, their wings brewing a storm.

A scorching wind carries toxic powder through the air, chasing like a grim reaper.

“Damn!” The man curses fiercely, running at full speed, his feet gliding over dry twigs and fallen leaves without making a sound.

The tattooed girl following behind him continues to emit frightened screams.

“Shut up!” The man impatiently rebukes, darting towards the abyss.

The pink flesh ball retracts its head, sprouting two large pincers, trembling as it hugs itself tightly.

The man runs with full concentration, so fast that even his afterimage is elusive, leaving a whirlwind behind. No matter how the tattooed girl accelerates, she cannot keep pace with him, her screams growing more chilling.

The abyss draws nearer.

The swarm of moths spreading toxic powder in the sky also approaches.

What will happen when the abyss meets the moth swarm?

The man stares ahead intently, a hint of curiosity curling his pale lips. He is a madman, enjoying lingering on the most dangerous edge, dancing with the grim reaper.

“Come chase me! The game will be thrilling!”

He brings his hand to his mouth and lets out a loud whistle, his already handsome yet sinister face revealing a morbid smile.

The tattooed girl following closely behind him opens her dark gaping mouth, screeching sharply.

The pink flesh ball, terrified but defiant against death, refuses to yield. Sensing that the big creature’s sound is meant to intimidate, it also pokes its head out from the shirt pocket, emitting a chirp.

The chirp is long, loud, and imposing, as the two pincers wave towards the moth swarm in the sky, as if in protest.

At this critical moment, the man can’t help but chuckle softly, pressing the pink flesh ball back into his pocket with a big hand.

Crash! The sound of something heavy falling into water comes from ahead. The man’s narrow eyes narrow slightly, a sense of foreboding creeping into his mind.

Speed increases once more, his feet barely touching the ground, his figure leaping and soaring as if flying.

Bounding onto branches, maneuvering at the highest point of the forest, with no dense foliage obstructing, his vision widens. Finally, the man sees clearly what lies ahead.

Vortexes gather above the abyss, resembling festering ulcers oozing filth.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, the dungeon is undergoing maintenance. In other words, the abyss will not overflow.

A twisted expression appears on the man’s face, quickly escalating into madness.

If it won’t overflow, then let’s try to awaken the abyss.

The moth swarm is almost upon them, the thick mist-like toxic powder transforming into the grim reaper, wielding a scythe to slaughter all living creatures in the sky and on the ground. The tattooed girl following behind the man is unfortunate to have been tainted by some of the toxic powder, emitting painful screams.

Sizzle… Flesh rapidly corroded, emitting plumes of black smoke, the tattooed girl staggers, collapsing forward, her body twisting like a snake, hands frantically scratching the ground. Skin decays, revealing festering wounds oozing blood and flesh, countless ghostly faces emerging from the wounds in terror.

The girl’s once plump body shrivels, her pitch-black eyes shedding tears of blood. Before facing the moth swarm head-on, she meets a tragic end.

The pink flesh ball peeks out from the pocket, watching in horror. It raises its large pincers, shielding one of its own black eyeballs, yet unable to resist peeking out through the gaps between the pincers.

The man anticipated this and felt no remorse, just a hint of impatience. Even a ghost king would struggle against such a terrifying creature. He changes direction, running towards the writhing tattooed girl.

The girl reaches out her hand towards him, a slightly twisted smile on her resentful face, stiffly conveying her gratitude.

Their hands tightly clasp together, and the man’s skin also becomes coated with the toxic powder, emitting black smoke.

Looking up at him, the girl is overwhelmed with gratitude.

The man smirks slightly, a wicked grin on his face, “I’ll make use of your waste.”

What? Before the girl’s slow mind can process the meaning of these words, her arm is harshly pulled, followed by her body being thrown. The man’s momentum causes him to involuntarily retreat, his body exposed to the toxic powder sprinkled by the moth swarm.

The skin continues to sizzle, emitting plumes of black smoke, blood seeping from every pore, hair, eyelashes, and body hair mixing in the thick, bloody fluid, all falling out together.

Standing rigidly under the downpour of toxic powder, the man lifts his hand and wipes his face. The flesh on his nose is wiped away like mud, revealing the stark white nasal bone; the retina of his left eye melts, forming a mass of pus and blood pooled in the eye socket.

At this moment, this handsome yet eerie man is neither human nor ghost.

Hearing the sound of his combat uniform being corroded, his sickly eyes flicker slightly, then swiftly he removes his clothes, bundles them up, and tucks them under a nearby large rock.

The rock shields the toxic powder, finally saving the almost tattered combat uniform.

The pink flesh ball hiding within the uniform strictly adheres to survival principles, refusing to expose itself, staying motionless, its two large pincers tightly covering its eyes. Fight when necessary, flee when possible, endure when needed – that’s how one survives in the long run.

The moth swarm descends, continuously fluttering their wings to sprinkle toxic powder. The blood, transformed into life, awaits them to feed upon.

The man gazes forward with his remaining right eye, choosing not to flee.

The tattooed girl is thrown to the edge of the abyss, her arms embracing a protruding rock, her body hanging, her feet above the boiling black viscous liquid.

This distance was calculated by the man. A fisherman always knows how far to cast the hook.

The girl alternates between looking down into the abyss, emitting terrified screams, and glaring at the man ahead, roaring with anger.

Standing in the rain of solidified toxic powder, his skin corroded to a bloody mess, the man seems oblivious to pain. He squints slightly, even managing a smile.

The girl’s screams grow more furious.

Suddenly, a pitch-black, slimy tentacle emerges from behind her, its robust end twisting into a bottomless vortex. The vortex, resembling the mouth of a lamprey, clamps onto the girl’s head. Her screams are silenced as she is engulfed, her hands loosening their grip on the rock in spasms.

The tentacle lifts the girl’s head, undulating its throat, expanding the vortex, gradually swallowing her. The dense vortexes appear on its slick surface like sinister eyes, staring intently at the man.

Madness fills the man’s eyes with a crazed grin.

The abyss gazes at him, an extremely chilling sensation.

As fear mounts and excitement surges, adrenaline rushes through the man’s veins. He looks up at the swarm of moths crowding the dark clouds above, then performs an insanely bold act.

He brings his hands to his mouth and lets out a loud whistle.

Silence must be maintained in the presence of the abyss, a rule ingrained in the minds of all task performers. The consequences of breaking this rule are unbearable.

The man has lost his mind. He is summoning the abyss.

The decaying flesh of his lips is brushed off by his palm, falling to the ground, revealing his stark white rows of teeth. He is no longer human in appearance.

Despite the sharp sounds, the mucus in the abyss should have overflowed. However, this time, it doesn’t.

The serpent-like tentacle merely sways at the edge of the cliff before slowly retracting. The vortexes in the sky are dumping garbage, having plenty of food, showing no interest in the man or the moth swarm.

This turn of events clearly surprises the man. His gaze slightly hardens, and the manic grin fades a bit.

Above him, the thunderous sound of wingbeats signals the moth swarm, having harvested lives and ready to feast. If he doesn’t run now, he’ll be drained dry by the swarm. His boots have been corroded to tatters by the toxic powder, exposing legs swollen with pus and blood.

Even if he runs now, it’s too late. Running with these legs will turn the flesh into mud, then piece by piece, it will fall off, revealing bare bones. Dragging this decaying body, the man faces a dead end. Despite all his calculations, he’s one move short of victory.

His hair falls out entirely, his skin festers and decays, his features merging into a mass of bloody flesh, only his right eye glimmering with a faint dark light. Standing still, he chuckles self-deprecatingly, accepting the impending end calmly.

“So this is the outcome of risking it all every day.” His resigned whisper gradually becomes muffled as his tongue is corroded by the toxic powder, turning into a mass of flesh.

Chirp chirp. Upon hearing the approaching moth swarm, the pink flesh ball emits a fearful low growl.

With just this faint sound, the ravenous black viscous liquid halts simultaneously. While the vortexes in the sky continue dumping garbage, offering a continuous supply of food, they no longer pique the interest of the black viscous liquid. Transforming into tentacles, they swiftly climb up the stone wall.

The man gazes up at the densely packed moth swarm.

Having no burial ground in death, this outcome was something he had long anticipated. In fact, most individuals drawn into this world meet the same fate in the end.

Blaming his ill-fortune, he happened to get caught up in the dungeon dumping garbage into the abyss; otherwise, this game could have continued.

With his lips falling off, unable to express any expression, the muscles on his cheek twitch slightly, almost as if smiling. At that moment, he hears a sticky, climbing sound emanating from the abyss.

Countless black tentacles eagerly surge out of the abyss, intertwining like frenzied serpents. Simultaneously, the moth swarm descends overwhelmingly, ready to suck the blood and flesh of all poisoned beings.

How does the collision of darkness and darkness unfold? Before entering this forest, the man had fervently imagined the scene repeatedly in the dead of night, filled with excitement.

Yet, facing it in reality, his imagination pales in comparison.

Innumerable tentacles clash with the moth swarm blanketing the sky, entwining and strangling each other. The earth and sky darken, shrouded in death and terror. Countless moths cling to the tentacles, their proboscises piercing the slick skin, greedily sucking away.

Soon, several tentacles shrink and wither as they are drained, prompting more tentacles to emerge from the abyss.

The moth swarm descends in waves, resembling demonic energy surging out when the gates of hell open, accompanied by chaotic wingbeats.

Numerous thick tentacles stick together, forming giant waves that crash layer upon layer, engulfing the countless moths. The moths struggle beneath the waves, their needle-like proboscises desperately sucking the black viscous liquid, attempting to break free.

Both sides press against each other, launching wave after wave of attacks, causing the entire forest to tremble.

Ants and animals skilled in digging holes desperately burrow into the ground, trying to escape this catastrophe.

After an unknown duration, the sounds of surging waves and wing vibrations fade away. The battlefield is in ruins. All moths have been devoured by the black viscous liquid, which, having absorbed too much energy and toxins, loses its vitality, rapidly drying up.

The dried viscous liquid forms a semi-transparent sac, encasing the pus-like remains of the dark moths. From a distance, it looks like a giant whale stranded on the shore, its massive belly exposed.

The tumult of battle is replaced by the gentle rustling of the wind, carrying the pungent scent of death.

The man’s eyes flicker, his exposed crimson smile muscles lightly tugging on his stark white jawbone, forming a mad grin.

Escaping from the clutches of death is undeniably exhilarating!