America: The Cremator

As the black Ford limousine drove into South Park, night had completely engulfed Seattle.

The streetlights on both sides of the street cast a sickly orange glow, making the wet asphalt road surface shine. Su Long parked the car steadily in an empty space, turned off the engine, and all that could be heard around him was the sound of traffic from the distant highway.

He got out of the car and walked towards the familiar two-story bungalow.

It was a craftsman-style building built in the 1940s. The white wooden siding on the exterior walls had faded and turned yellow, and large patches of dark green mold were spreading in the corners.

The concrete base of the building is covered with spiderweb-like cracks, and several clumps of stubborn moss sprout from the cracks. The dark green wooden window frames also look old and worn due to years of sun and rain.

The front yard was very small, with a crooked wooden fence barely separating it from the sidewalk. The yard was covered with withered weeds and rotting leaves.

The second floor of the house is where he rents his place, while the first floor is where the landlord lives.

Su Long's gaze swept across the first-floor window, which was pitch black inside, without a trace of light, and he couldn't help but feel a little puzzled.

His landlord, a 48-year-old middle-aged man, used to be a shipyard worker. He became disabled due to a work injury and lived entirely on subsidies and rent. Due to his long-term drug abuse and domestic violence, his wife and daughter also cut off contact with him.

These experiences turned him into a withdrawn and slovenly man who rarely interacted with others and whose only hobbies were junk food and television.

As is customary, at this time, he should be lounging on the sofa, stuffing potato chips into his mouth while watching the classic American crime documentary "48 Hours," with the flickering light from the TV screen and the deafening noise crowding into the yard.

But today, the whole house is unusually quiet.

Su Long took out the key, inserted it into the lock, and turned it gently.

"Click".

He pushed open the door, and a stale smell mixed with dust, mildew, and cheap air freshener hit him.

Just as he stepped into the room, he heard a soft sound behind him.

The heavy oak door... closed by itself.

Su Long immediately turned around warily.

Right behind him, the door was "melting" in a way that defied all the laws of physics.

It was no longer solid wood, but had turned into a thick, ink-like fluid that was slowly spreading and seeping into the surrounding walls.

The wood grain texture was stretched and twisted as it flowed, eventually disappearing completely. The brass material of the door handle also lost its metallic luster, turning into a pool of dark golden liquid, which was completely swallowed by the spreading darkness.

The entire process was silent, yet it carried a chilling, surreal sense of the bizarre.

The door disappeared... right before his eyes.

Su Long slowly took a few steps back to distance himself further away. He tried to reach out and press the light switch next to the open door, but the ceiling light only flashed a few sparks.

In the dark living room, the landlord sat on the sofa in the center, his back to the door, his posture stiff and unnatural.

Su Long's right hand instantly pressed on the gun handle at his waist, and at the same time he activated his spiritual vision.

In their field of vision, a thick, almost tangible black mist was continuously emanating from the landlord's body, almost completely enveloping the sofa.

He drew his Colt Python, smoothly swung the cylinder, pulled out the spent cartridge used to ignite the bathtub, and loaded a brand-new sterling silver bullet to ensure the pistol was fully loaded.

"Click."

With the magazine back in place, Suron reached for the flask on the other side of his waist, only to find it light and airy—the flask had run out of liquid while treating Dania.

Su Long watched the landlord warily, but did not immediately step forward. Instead, he remained highly vigilant and retreated to the open kitchen area next door.

He opened the refrigerator door, which was filled with a jumble of frozen foods and soft drinks.

At the very bottom, he found a lone can of beer, the only drink available there.

He unscrewed the lid of the "Raphael" pitcher, poured in all the bubbly beer, shook it vigorously, and took a small sip.

A familiar cool sensation rushed into his brain, effectively dispelling the slight restlessness that had arisen in his heart due to the bizarre scene before him.

Raphael's upgrade is quite cost-effective; nowadays, even this extremely cheap beer can achieve the same effect as the previously expensive whiskey.

With the added effect of the alcohol, Su Long's mind calmed down considerably. He gripped the revolver tightly with his right hand, and slowly raised his left hand. The primordial fire rose in his palm, and a warm light illuminated the darkness in the room.

Using the light of the flames, he moved step by step toward the sofa in the center of the living room.

He quickly walked around the side of the sofa and came to the front of the landlord, without any unexpected incidents occurring throughout the process.

The landlord was sitting back on the sofa with his head tilted back at an exaggerated angle, almost breaking his neck.

His mouth was agape to its limit, his cloudy eyes were wide open, and his face was frozen in an expression of extreme terror as he stared intently at the ceiling.

Su Long followed his gaze upwards, only to find the ceiling completely empty.

His gaze shifted downwards again, and the landlord's entire chest and abdomen seemed to be burst open from the inside by some enormous force, forming an irregular, huge cavity.

Strangely, there was no blood, no internal organs, and no mucus at the scene.

The edges of the wound were unusually smooth, as if that part of the body had been erased out of thin air... or rather, as if a door had been opened up.

Su Long felt a tingling sensation on his scalp.

He looked around and found that all the windows, like the door from before, had turned into a blurred color—the entire room had become a completely enclosed cage with no exit.

In Su Long's spiritual vision, the entire space was filled with extremely fine threads, like spider silk or mist. They were everywhere, layer upon layer, severely interfering with his perception and making it impossible for him to see his surroundings clearly.

Su Long took out his phone, ready to call Elena.

However, the instant the screen lit up, the entire phone quickly softened and deformed in his palm, melting like a piece of heated butter, turning into a flowing color like ink. Some of it dripped onto the floor, while the rest clung to his palm, trying to penetrate his skin.

Su Long's eyes narrowed, and he immediately activated the power of [Ode to Flesh and Blood].

The blood in his palm instantly flowed back, the capillary network under his skin temporarily closed, and all the pores tightened sharply, forming a dense physiological barrier.

At the same time, he quickly poured the beer from the "Raphael" onto his other hand.

"Sizzle—"

A wisp of smoke rose up, and the ink-like substance, upon contact with the beer, writhed and evaporated violently, like worms splashed with strong acid, before finally dissipating completely.

I am trapped in a room by some strange force... unable to call for help.

Su Long took a few steps back, away from the colors stained on the ground, forcing himself to calm down and re-examine the ubiquitous threads around him.

Soon, with his spiritual vision reaching 20 points, he discovered subtle patterns.

Among the countless tangled threads, there is a core thread that is slightly thicker than the others. It hangs in mid-air, and countless tiny threads converge into it from all directions, like rivers flowing into the sea.

He raised his head, his gaze following the thickest thread.

Finally, in the shadows of a corner of the living room ceiling, he saw the outline of the thing.

It was a butterfly the size of a human head.

Its wings are not made of flesh and blood, but two constantly flowing and changing ink-colored patches, shimmering with dazzling and mesmerizing colors. With each flap, they leave brief, aurora-like trails in the air.

In stark contrast to its almost ethereal beautiful wings was its repulsive body.

It was made up of countless human fingers intertwined and twisted together, those fingers of different sizes and skin colors, wriggling at an extremely slow speed.

Its head has no mouthparts or antennae, but only two deep, swirling eyes.

There was no emotion in those eyes, only a pure emptiness that could completely draw one's soul into them.