A heretical cultivator in Bureau 749, I'm the fiercest at pulling out tendons and skinning peop

Ji Zuodao walked lightly through the thick, pure white fog, humming an off-key tune, his voice sounding somewhat ethereal and distorted by the mist.

"Looking for friends~"

"Found a good friend~"

"Give a salute or shake hands~"

"We're all good friends~"

"Hehehe..."

He even raised his voice a little when he got into it, his tone filled with the innocent joy of a child playing:

"Are you all hidden well?"

"I'm coming to find you guys~"

The eerie songs and laughter drifted through the silent, dense fog where one could only see about ten meters around.

They burrowed into the ears of those foreigners who had narrowly escaped the first wave of slaughter and were now holding their breath, like frightened birds.

My scalp is tingling.

My hair stood on end.

A chill ran down my spine and straight up to the top of my head.

Just now, in less than three minutes, at least seven of their companions were silently dragged into the depths of the thick fog by dark tentacles that seemed to emerge from some unknown direction.

He couldn't even let out a decent scream.

There was only a brief, almost unbelievable ripping sound, like fabric being torn, and a soft, pattering sound of some viscous liquid dripping.

Then, there was silence.

The pure white cloud summoned by Director Zhang not only perfectly divided the battlefield, preventing them from gathering and coordinating, but also seemed to possess a strange characteristic of suppressing perception.

The werewolf's prized sense of smell could only detect the unsettlingly pure mist and vapor here.

The vampire's thermal vision made everything appear as a hazy, pale blur.

Other miscellaneous detection methods have been completely ignored.

They are practically blind now.

No, it's worse than being blind.

Even if you're blind, at least you won't know where the danger is coming from.

And they could clearly hear the demon humming a nursery rhyme, moving closer and closer through the fog.

"rustle……"

Suddenly, a faint rustling sound of clothing came from the fog wall on the left.

Several monsters, back to back and on high alert, suddenly turned their heads, weapons aimed in that direction, muscles tensed, and cold sweat instantly soaked their backs.

The fog wall rippled slightly.

A familiar figure staggered out from among them.

It's John!

That was a burly man with a very high concentration of werewolf blood and a fiery temper; he was the first to yell that he wanted to rush out and fight to the death!

"John? Oh, thank God! You're alive!"

The group was both surprised and delighted. Their tense nerves relaxed slightly, and they quickly surrounded the group.

To be able to reunite in this ghostly fog is truly a miracle from God!

John looks terrible.

His combat uniform was tattered, and his exposed skin was covered with horrific, crisscrossing wounds that looked as if they had been repeatedly cut and then barely glued back together.

His face was as pale as paper, his eyes were unfocused, and he walked unsteadily, as if he might fall apart at any moment.

"Blake..."

John spotted a familiar companion in the crowd, who was speaking in a hoarse, lisping voice.

He stretched out his trembling arm as if grasping at a straw, staggered forward, and hugged his companion named Blake tightly.

"Help me... Blake... I feel... really bad..."

His voice grew lower and lower, more and more indistinct, carrying an indescribable, eerie quality, as if something was rotting from the inside out.

Blake, who was being hugged, was startled at first, and then his face showed a mixture of fear and disgust.

He could feel that John's body... felt wrong.

It didn't feel like embracing a living person; it felt more like embracing a wax figure stuffed with rotten cotton that had been exposed to the scorching sun for three days.

It was soft, damp, and had an unnatural warmth.

"John, you..." Blake's words trailed off.

Because he saw in horror that John, whom he held in his arms, had a pale face that was melting at a speed visible to the naked eye.

It's not a metaphor.

It's really melting!

Like a candle baking in the scorching sun, or like oil being baked at high temperatures.

John's facial features began to blur and collapse.

The fluid dripped downwards from the face, and the skin became transparent and sticky, mixed with a dark red substance that resembled blood and tissue fluid, dripping down.

In just two or three seconds, John's face was no longer recognizable as human, turning into a semi-solidified, red and white viscous substance that barely maintained the shape of a head.

Only those eyes remained in their original positions, but their gaze was now completely empty, staring blankly at Blake.

"Oh my god! What the hell is this thing?!"

The onlookers were terrified and retreated in panic, pointing their weapons haphazardly at the melting "thing".

Blake, who was hugging John, was terrified!

He tried to push John away, but found that his palms, arms, and the clothes on his chest—wherever they had touched John's body—were covered with that slippery, sticky, and strangely warm melting substance.

"Get out of here! Get out of here!!"

Blake let out a piercing scream and, with all her might, shoved the unrecognizable John in her arms away!

"Splat—!!!"

A dull thud, extremely unsettling, viscous substance, fell heavily to the ground.

John fell to the ground like a water bag filled with semi-solidified colloid bursting, with red and white sticky substances radiating outwards!

Much of it splashed onto the bodies and faces of the companions who couldn't retreat in time.

"FUCK! Blake, you idiot!"

"Disgusting! What the hell is this thing?!"

The men who had been smeared with John's melted substance were terrified and cursing as they frantically tried to wipe the sticky stuff off their bodies.

But the next second—

Their angry curses were all stuck in their throats.

It turned into even more piercing and desperate screams and wails!

"Aaaaaaahh ...

"No! No no no no no no—!!!"

Because they were horrified to discover that any skin that had come into contact with that sticky substance began to flare up in the same way and at the same speed...

melt!

As my fingers touched my cheek, tears began to trickle down my fingertips.

When I tried to wipe off the stains on my arm, the skin on my entire arm started to become transparent and sticky.

Someone accidentally spilled a little bit into the corner of their mouth, and their entire chin began to "drip" uncontrollably.

"Help...help me..."

"God...no..."

"What kind of curse is this... No—!!!"

Desperate cries, desperate prayers, and inhuman wails echoed in a small area shrouded in thick fog.

But the sound grew softer and softer, becoming increasingly indistinct.

In the end, all that remained was a faint sound, like a viscous substance slowly flowing, similar to a wet rag mopping the floor.

A few seconds later.

All that remained were a few pools of viscous, red and white material that were barely recognizable as human figures, still wriggling slightly, and a few sets of empty, tattered clothes soaked in slime.

From the depths of the thick fog, Ji Zuodao's song drifted once more, carrying with it innocent confusion:

"what?"

"Why are a few friends missing?"

"Is she hiding because she's shy?"

"It's okay~"

"I'll look slowly~"

"us……"

"We'll always be good friends~"

"Hehehe..."

The laughter faded into the distance, disappearing into the boundless, pure white sea of ​​mist.

All that remained were a few pools of viscous substance and a deathly silence, a chilling fear that sent shivers down one's spine.