It wasn't just
Blood was spreading across the canvases. The originally upside-down images were gradually changing—the normal half was being consumed by the crimson tide, and screams and wails kept pouring out from within the canvases.
"Teacher Bai, what on earth is going on?"
All the paintings in the oil art room were divided into two halves. The upper half was identical to reality, while the lower half was a sea of blood-red.
Once the blood began to spread, the crimson figures in the lower half of each painting all crawled up through the fresh blood to the other side of the canvas.
They used every conceivable method, employing tools within the paintings themselves, to kill their normal-looking counterparts.
The inverted world was being destroyed. Even more unsettling, more and more blood-red threads were emerging from the slain figures within the paintings, all surging toward the fourteenth easel.
The pattern on the canvas was becoming clearer. That red dress seemed to be some kind of taboo—requiring the blood of everyone before she could appear.
*Boom!*
Zhou Tu, his face ashen, was flung to the ground by the blood-red threads. His body was grotesquely deformed, like a sponge that had been wrung out with tremendous force.
The blood mist that had once enveloped him grew even denser, then slowly drifted into the fourteenth easel.
The woman's long gown was traced in fresh blood, vivid and lifelike, like a roiling ocean of crimson.
Face after tormented face was carved into the hem of her skirt. Beneath her feet she trampled on screaming, suffering souls—like a flower blooming at the deepest depths of despair.
Compared to everything around her, she was so utterly different.
Standing in this prison overflowing with curses and negative emotions, that blood-red dress was the most vibrant red in the entire world.
"This painting…"
As the blood-red threads converged, the fourteenth oil painting grew ever clearer.
An overturned desk, a mirror shattered across the floor, and she stood barefoot at the heart of the ruined school.
The blood-red dress clung tightly to her body. She raised her snow-white neck, like a crimson swan.
The painting depicted only the woman's back. Everything from the preceding thirteen paintings had been poured into it—and yet it only managed to outline her silhouette.
Standing frozen before the oil painting,
"Everyone is here now. The ones I've saved, the ones who've saved me, the ones I've killed, and the ones who've killed me—they've all come to this place."
The man's voice rang out again. In the first sentence it was still distinctly male, but as he continued speaking, his voice gradually shifted toward something androgynous.
It sounded as though countless voices had been blended together, though for the most part, the male voice maintained its dominance.
"Who exactly are you? How do you know what she looks like?" Chen Ge stood beside the fourteenth painting. "Where is she?"
Zhang Ya was dormant within his shadow, and he was deeply worried that the other party might take this opportunity to strike at her. After all, this school might well contain an existence that surpassed even the Red Dress tier.