The atmosphere in the corridor had changed dramatically from before. The group standing at the warehouse entrance all turned to look toward the intersection.
The sound of a head hitting the floor grew clearer. Wall-mounted lamps flickered out one by one. Fan Dade, standing at the very front, could clearly make out a figure standing in the darkness.
A lopsided body, a head resting on the shoulder, and two arms of different lengths that looked as if they had been haphazardly stitched together.
It lurked in the darkness, balancing on the tips of its toes, hopping gently in the void.
A woman's whisper crept into his ears — mournful and melancholy. No one could make out what she was saying. It sounded like a plea, or perhaps a muttered complaint, asking to borrow something.
Anxiety, unease — a crushing weight slowly seeping into the soul. Fear crawled out from the corners, slow and deliberate.
Fan Dade's legs had already gone weak. A chill crept across the back of his neck, as if a pair of ice-cold hands had reached out from inside his own clothing and were gently stroking his throat.
Sweat slid down his forehead. His calves trembled softly. The wall lamps in the other three corridors of the intersection had all gone dark.
At a glance, nothing remained but blackness.
The sound of his own heartbeat in his chest and the sound of the bouncing head slowly merged, drawing closer and closer.
The wall lamps continued to die. Before he could even react, the light a few meters in front of Fan Dade snuffed itself out.
That blurry, lopsided body was approaching. They had arrived.
His calves trembled even more violently. Just as Fan Dade tried to turn and run, the lamp beside him went out without warning.
Half his body was swallowed by darkness. His tall frame stood like a wall between the light and the void.
His neck grew colder still. The sensation of being touched crept upward from his calves, like countless ants burrowing into his clothes. His strength was drained bit by bit. He couldn't scream — his throat convulsed desperately, and his pupils shrank to almost a single pinprick.
In the darkness before him, a mass of absolute black slowly stretched outward, like a viscous liquid, and took shape in front of Fan Dade.
Soaked in formaldehyde for so long, their skin had the texture of dried cowhide. It pressed against Fan Dade's body. The darkness deepened further, and that face finally emerged.
Its skull had been hollowed out. This image — absolutely restricted, beyond any rating — shattered every last shred of Fan Dade's psychological defenses the instant it appeared.
In that moment, he felt his heartbeat stop. The blood in his veins seemed to reverse its flow. Indescribable. It was as though even fainting or screaming had become a luxury.
Someone save me! Save me!
He didn't know who had made that sound, or where it had come from. Fan Dade's entire body began to shake. At a full meter ninety, his frame completely blocked out the darkness ahead.
The others behind him could only see Fan Dade convulsing as if seized by some violent episode, his skin turning an unnatural color.
"Brother? What… what's wrong?" His younger brother Fan Cong's voice came from behind him, offering a sliver of light to the one sinking ever deeper into the vortex of darkness.
He thought of the brother he had relied on all his life. When they were young, his brother had once said those very same words.
His blood surged. Fan Dade slowly turned his head.
His face was covered with blue veins, his expression twisted to the breaking point. His trembling lips slowly parted, and from the heart of the darkness, Fan Dade summoned every last ounce of strength to shout: "They're here! Run!"
His back turned ice-cold. Liquid streamed from both ears. His world was completely overtaken by a sound like nails scraping across glass. He felt the hollow-skinned creature from the darkness crawling onto his body, its formaldehyde-dripping hands gently covering both of his ears.