absurd deduction game.

The night was deep, and the small room of the cheap hotel was filled with a damp, musty smell mixed with the pungent odor of disinfectant.

The mottled plaster on the walls was slightly curled, and the thin curtains could not completely block the pale moonlight from outside the window, casting distorted patches of light on the uneven floor.

Sarah curled up on the hard bed, covered with a thin, damp, faded blanket.

Under intense mental stress, she couldn't fall asleep even with her eyes closed. The fragmented information she had exchanged with Anthony about the cult conspiracy kept replaying in her mind, along with her anxiety about the choices she would have to make the next day.

She tossed and turned in bed, the thin mattress creaking under her weight.

She didn't know how much time had passed when a strange chill crept up her spine, making her shiver involuntarily. Even though the windows were tightly closed, the chill seemed to seep in through the cracks in the walls, growing stronger and stronger.

She finally couldn't resist sitting up and groping her way to the window to check if it was closed properly.

Her fingers touched the cold window frame, confirming the gap was tightly closed. Just as she was about to retreat back to bed, a very faint but undeniable sound came through the poor-quality wall from the next room—Anthony's room.

It was a rustling sound...

It didn't sound like tidying up, nor like normal walking; it sounded more like something slowly, viscously... crawling? Or... the sound of fingernails gently scraping against some surface?
Sarah's heart jumped into her throat.

In the stillness of midnight, any unusual sound could snap her already taut nerves.

She held her breath, tiptoed to the wall next to the next room, hesitated for a moment, and then pressed her ear tightly against it.

Strangely, when she pressed herself against the wall, the faint sound disappeared, and the next room fell into a deathly silence, as if everything that had just happened was just her hallucination.

But the deathly silence made her more uneasy than the eerie sound from before. Her and Anthony's identities meant that they could encounter misfortune at any time, and they could never let their guard down.

Driven by intense worry and a sense of foreboding, she knew she couldn't just wait around.

Sarah quickly pulled a sharp folding knife from the side pocket of her backpack.

Using the faint moonlight filtering in through the window, her gaze searched the rough wall. Soon, she found a small dent that was already damaged from dampness, revealing the gray-black filling inside.

She gritted her teeth, silently apologized to the hotel owner, and then carefully placed the tip of the knife against the damaged area. With the lightest yet most powerful movements possible, she began to slowly pry and dig inwards and to the side.

The inferior plaster and fillers fell shuffling under the knife tip.

She moved very carefully, afraid of making too much noise and disturbing anything that might be lurking next door.

Sweat dripped from her forehead, mingling with the wall dust and leaving muddy marks on her pale face. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, almost breaking her ribs.

Finally, Sarah felt the tip of her knife go empty, and she painstakingly chiseled through a small hole, just big enough for one eye to peek through.

She immediately crouched down, adjusted her angle, and eagerly brought her right eye close to the narrow hole, trying to peer into the next room—

The light on the other side of the hole was much dimmer than on her side, as if it had been soaked in thick ink. Only a faint, eerie green halo of light, of unknown origin, floated in the air, barely outlining the blurry contours of objects.

A strange, indescribable odor, a mixture of stale blood and a cloying, rotten smell, seeped through the holes and into Sarah's nostrils, making her stomach churn.

She strained to open her eyes wide, her pupils struggling to focus in the darkness.

The layout of the next room seemed similar to hers, but the furniture's outline appeared distorted and unreal under the eerie green light, casting menacing shadows. She struggled to find Anthony's figure or any sign of activity.

Just then, the rustling sound started again, much clearer than when it was pressed against the wall!

The sound was thick and intermittent, unlike walking or talking. Instead, it sounded like some kind of multi-legged, slippery object slowly dragging across the floor, or like something elastic rubbing and squeezing against each other.

Sarah felt a chill run down her spine.

The sound seemed to be coming from near the wall, shifting left and right, unpredictable. Her heart pounded like a drum, she held her breath, and didn't even dare to blink, staring intently in the direction the sound was coming from.

In that chaotic darkness, Sarah seemed to glimpse a short, irregular black shadow crawling close to the ground, but the light was too dim and the outline vanished in an instant, making it impossible to determine what it was.

Fear, like cold vines, coiled around her heart, tightening ever more.

It was too quiet; apart from that eerie sound, the neighborhood was eerily silent.

What about Anthony? How is he doing?

Why is there no sound at all?

She forced herself to concentrate, pressing her eyes even closer to the hole, almost squeezing them open, trying to discern more information from the all-consuming darkness and eerie sounds—

suddenly!

Just as she was intently staring at the hole, a slender, pale finger, almost bloodless, suddenly stabbed out from the other end of the hole with lightning speed!

Those sharp fingertips, with an inhuman agility and malice, were aimed directly at her eyes!

"what!"

Sarah was terrified. She managed a short, sharp scream and, driven by her survival instinct, leaned back and crashed heavily onto the cold floor, narrowly avoiding a blow that could have blinded her.

Her heart nearly stopped beating, and cold sweat instantly soaked through her thin nightgown. Still shaken, she looked up and, through the small hole, vaguely saw the slender finger slowly retracting.

In the extremely dim light, she could clearly see that the fingernail had been carefully trimmed and painted with a dark, almost poisonous, murky green nail polish!
At the same time, a very soft, cold woman's sneer came through the hole clearly, carrying a mocking, all-controlling cruelty.

It's Fennell!

Sarah felt as if she had fallen into an ice cave, her blood seemingly frozen.

Fernail is right here! In Anthony's room!
And Anthony...

An overwhelming fear engulfed her like a tidal wave, almost suffocating her.

Sarah crawled backward a few steps, pressing her back tightly against the cold wall of her room, panting heavily, tears mixed with cold sweat and wall dust streaming down her face uncontrollably.

She thought of escaping, of fleeing this terrifying place immediately. But... Anthony was still inside.

A jumble of chaotic thoughts raged through her mind.

How powerful is Fernail? Could she already be...? No, no, perhaps Anthony is still alive, perhaps there's still a chance...

The instinct for survival and the worry for her companions clashed fiercely. Finally, she abruptly wiped the dirt off her face with her sleeve, a resolute glint in her eyes.

With trembling hands, she rummaged deep into her backpack and pulled out an old cross strung on a silver chain, engraved with simple exorcising runes. She clutched it tightly in her palm, the cold touch seemingly giving her a faint sense of strength.

This was something she had gone to great lengths to obtain, and it cost more than buying a tombstone.

She cannot escape alone.

Taking a deep breath, Sarah jumped to her feet, flung open her bedroom door, rushed to Anthony's door next door, and frantically pounded on the flimsy wooden door with all her might, shouting hoarsely, "Professor Anthony! Open the door! Open the door now!"

Anthony was now in a thick and strange drowsiness.

Sarah's urgent shouts and banging on the door seemed to come from a distant underwater place, indistinct and intermittent.

Subconsciously, he knew that the sound represented danger and urgency, but his body felt as if it were being pressed down by an invisible boulder, so heavy that he could not move. Every muscle was limp and he could not muster any strength. Even lifting a finger became extremely difficult.

His eyelids felt incredibly heavy. No matter how much he screamed and commanded himself to open them, the two thin eyelids seemed to be sewn together, stuck firmly together.

This feeling... wasn't like ordinary sleepiness; it was more like being delirious with a high fever, or being given an astonishing dose of hallucinogenic drugs, with the whole world twisting and spinning in his perception.

In a daze, Anthony felt something cold and sharp, like the gentlest caress of a lover, slowly gliding across the skin of his neck.

The touch brought a slight sting, followed by a familiar scent of nail polish with a unique floral fragrance—Fennell's favorite, a color as dark as a deep pool.

Immediately afterwards, the mattress beside him sank slightly, and a body with familiar warmth and soft curves lifted the covers and silently slid in, pressing closely against his side.

is her!

This realization, like an icicle, instantly pierced Anthony's chaotic consciousness, and alarm bells rang shrilly in his brain! Danger! Do something quickly!
However, just as this fear was about to explode—

"Om..."

A faint yet crystal-clear sound of butterfly wings suddenly rang in his ears, or rather, deep within his mind.

The voice seemed to possess some strange magic, as if it had plucked a hidden string. The immense fear he had just felt towards Funel was enveloped by a transparent, all-encompassing bubble, quickly fading away and becoming insignificant.

Instead, there was a bewildered, almost blissful tranquility.

His efforts to open his eyes relaxed, his lips moved unconsciously, and he uttered a muffled but dependent murmur: "Fennell...?"

“I’m here, darling.” His wife’s gentle and passionate response immediately rang in his ears, her breath brushing against his earlobe, carrying the intimacy of the past.

The voice instantly pulled him back to the beautiful times of many years ago, to the bright, proud, angelic Fernell, the girl who chose him, an ordinary scholar, and he still felt like he was in a dream.

Overwhelmed by a sense of happiness, Anthony ignored the fact that he still couldn't open his eyes, and a blissful smile involuntarily appeared on his face.

“I love you…” he murmured, his voice filled with unguarded affection.

His wife hugged him tighter, her soft laughter tickling his nerves like a feather: "Really?"

Anthony felt as if his head was being slowly enveloped by some kind of slippery, elastic membrane, a sensation so clear it had reached his eyes.

A sharp pain pierced his temple, and several bloody and cruel images exploded in his mind like lightning—the blasphemous ritual in the abandoned factory, Tate's unseeing eyes in death... The fear that had been temporarily isolated tried to return like a tide.

Anxiety gripped him instantly.

“Fennell…” he called again, his voice trembling almost imperceptibly.

Then, he felt Fernail's cool fingers gently touch his lips, stopping him from saying anything more.

"Shh..." His wife's voice was still soft, but it carried a chilling, almost pleasurable, eerie quality.

Meanwhile, the cold, damp film had spread to his nose, blocking his nostrils. Anthony had to open his mouth to try to get oxygen, his heart pounding wildly from lack of oxygen and fear.

He instinctively gripped Fernail's hand tightly, the hand that had once brought him boundless warmth and peace of mind, now as cold as a venomous snake. He asked, bewildered and confused, "Fernail... what's wrong?"

Fernail's voice carried a nonchalant yet chilling regret: "It's such a shame I didn't see you and Sarah sleeping in the same bed... If that were the case, I could have killed the defiled man without hesitation."

She clicked her tongue lightly, her tone revealing a hint of genuine dissatisfaction: "But you haven't cheated on me... No matter how I deal with you, it just makes me feel...very annoyed."

"Bam—"

It was as if something had shattered.

The bubble that had temporarily shielded us from fear burst completely, and all the suppressed memories and perceptions, like a flood breaking through a dam, instantly shattered that false sense of happiness.

Anthony suddenly woke up completely!
Sarah's shouts and banging outside the door became incredibly clear and jarring.

He remembered everything—Fennell's true identity, Tate's death, their investigation, and their current predicament!

"Do not--!!!"

A silent roar erupted within him as he tried to open his eyes immediately and break free!

However, his eyes and nose were completely sealed off by the viscous, cold substance. Then, with a nimble flip, Furnel's body pressed heavily on top of him, the force of which was astonishing, binding him firmly to the bed, unable to move.

He had just opened his mouth to call for help when that disgusting membrane quickly covered him, silencing his shouts and turning them into desperate and painful "woo-woo" sounds.

Consciousness gradually blurred due to lack of oxygen, and the only sound filling her ears was Fernail's light, cruel laughter, as if she were admiring a masterpiece. (End of Chapter)