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墨書 Inktalez
Lin Zhao Cheng felt his throat dry up as he swallowed hard, his stomach cramping from extreme tension. But he knew there was no turning back.
Rather than becoming a pile of rotten flesh here, completely devoured by this monstrous Massage Chair, he would rather take a chance and see if he could escape alive!
His fists tightened, knuckles turning white as he forced himself to ignore the fear gnawing at him. He raised his head, determination and defiance shining in his eyes, and said softly, "I will give it a try."
The Withered Man paused for a moment, then a faint smile crept across his face—one that held a hint of sarcasm mixed with appreciation.
"Ha... I quite like this spirit."
He extended his withered hand, as if performing some long-forgotten ritual, and slowly said, "My name in life was William."
Lin Zhao Cheng was taken aback; he hadn’t expected this skeletal figure to remember his name, to recall his identity from when he was "alive"—
This meant that he had once been a living person, that he had once had a life of his own, and hadn’t always looked like this…
With that thought in mind, Lin Zhao Cheng took a deep breath and reached out to shake William's hand. He then whispered, "I am Lin Zhao Cheng."
In that moment, their gazes met, as if an invisible connection was being forged in this bizarre world.
They were alive; they had not yet become part of this place.
They still had a chance to escape.
William said nothing more but nodded at Lin Zhao Cheng before turning around and stepping toward the flesh-woven ground.
Lin Zhao Cheng took a deep breath and forced himself to follow.
With each step he took, the ground beneath him emitted an eerie "squelch," as if he were stepping on some half-rotten organ. He could even feel something writhing slowly beneath the surface.
The air was thick with the pungent smell of rust and decay, as if this place itself were a massive, decomposing corpse, each breath feeling like a gulp of rotting souls.
Around them, the Meat Wall twitched occasionally, as if responding to their presence. Sometimes, slender, vein-like tendrils would slowly emerge from the wall, seemingly probing for something, searching for the scent of "living" beings.
This was nothing short of hell.
After walking for a while, Lin Zhao Cheng began to notice that on this bizarre path, there were occasional appearances of "people."
Or rather, things that had once been "people."
There stood a figure resembling a desiccated husk, almost devoid of flesh. Its skin was like cracked parchment, so thin that the outline of bones was nearly visible. Terrifyingly, there was not a glimmer of light in its eyes—only the hollow void of death.
That "person" stood rigidly by the roadside, motionless like a statue that had long lost its soul. Its lips were slightly parted, and from deep within its throat came a dry hissing sound, reminiscent of wind whistling through broken pipes—a sound that sent shivers down one’s spine.
Lin Zhao Cheng couldn’t help but hold his breath and instinctively moved closer to William, whispering, “What is that…?”
William did not turn around; he simply murmured, “That is my future.”
Lin Zhao Cheng trembled all over, his fingertips quivering, but he could not find the words to respond.
That was his ultimate fate.
When flesh and blood were completely devoured, these people would stand like withered trees in some corner of this world, stripped of all emotion, thought, and consciousness—merely empty shells—until one day they were entirely absorbed by this hell.
The two fell into silence; no one wished to say anything more. They quietly and swiftly maneuvered around these desiccated "people," trying to make no sound and keep as far away from them as possible.
Yet even so, Lin Zhao Cheng could still feel those hollow eyes watching him silently as he passed…
Lin Zhao Cheng followed William's footsteps, advancing through the twisted, writhing Blood Flesh Hell. Each step felt as if he were treading upon some unknown living entity, the slimy sensation seeping through the soles of his shoes sent shivers down his spine.
Soon, they arrived at a dark cave, its entrance resembling the gaping maw of some colossal beast, the edges covered in blood-red tissue that twitched every few seconds as if it were swallowing air.
"This is... my dwelling," William said in a flat tone before stepping inside.
Lin Zhao Cheng took a deep breath and followed closely behind. The interior of the cave was slightly drier than outside, with walls still covered in bizarre blood and flesh textures, but at least there were fewer writhing tendrils.
In the center of the cave, a small flicker of flame burned weakly, its light trembling and flickering like the only beacon in this hellish realm. Though tiny, it offered Lin Zhao Cheng a slight sense of warmth and reality.
The floor was covered with a makeshift mattress—worn and dirty—but it looked far better than sleeping directly on the Blood Flesh Hell itself.
"If we are to go to the Entrance, we must be prepared," William said in a low voice, his tone carrying a hint of seriousness.
Lin Zhao Cheng nodded and scanned the cave, hoping to find something useful among its contents.
William crouched down and rummaged through a corner beside the mattress for a moment before pulling out two items, shaking his head with a smile. "Though I said we need to be prepared, there’s really not much to choose from here."
Lin Zhao Cheng looked down to see what William held in his hands—
One was an old knife, its blade riddled with tiny nicks, and the grip was worn to a pale finish, clearly having been used for quite some time.
The other was an axe. While it had more offensive capability than the knife, its blade was smeared with dried blackened blood, and the wooden handle bore cracks, suggesting it had endured countless brutal battles.
Is this really their weapon?
"Are you serious? Just these?" Lin Zhao Cheng let out a bitter laugh, feeling on the verge of breaking down.
William chuckled as well, his tone tinged with a hint of resignation. "Welcome to Massage Chair World. Here, there are no modern weapons, only the most primitive means of survival."
He flipped a small knife and handed it to Lin Zhao Cheng. "Which one do you want?"
Lin Zhao Cheng looked at the two battered weapons, a chill running through him.
Could they really survive and reach the Entrance with just these?
Hesitantly, he reached out and touched the knife.
The handle was cold, its rough texture sending a shiver through his fingertips. He could feel that this knife had been through countless battles; the worn blade indicated it had been used too many times, perhaps even to cut things it shouldn't have...
Yet, compared to that, he found it even harder to imagine himself wielding an axe.
"I've never used an axe; maybe the knife is more manageable..." he murmured, his voice uncertain, as if trying to reassure himself.
After all, he had hardly ever held a knife in his life, and now he was expected to use it to kill something?
William watched him, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth, as if he were not surprised by this choice. But in the next moment, his expression turned serious, his gaze deep enough to make Lin Zhao Cheng feel uneasy.
"Since we're teammates now, I have one request for you."
Lin Zhao Cheng paused for a moment and looked up at him. "What is it?"
"If... I lose my sanity as well, you must kill me at the first opportunity."
William's tone was calm and resolute, as if this were merely a simple transaction, a rule that had to be followed, rather than the exchange of a life.
Lin Zhao Cheng's pupils trembled slightly, his fingers tightening around the knife, almost dropping it to the ground.
"W-what?" His throat felt dry, and his voice trembled uncontrollably.
William did not offer further explanation; he simply stared at him intently, his tone unwavering. "You can agree to this, can't you?"
Lin Zhao Cheng's breath quickened as he looked down at the knife in his hand, a whirlwind of thoughts racing through his mind.
Was he being asked to kill someone?
He had hardly ever held a knife in his life, let alone used one to take the life of another being, especially a "person" who could speak.
If William truly became one of those withered corpses... could he really bring himself to kill him?
What if he himself turned into something like that? What would he think then?
This hesitation and struggle churned within him, his palms growing sweaty from anxiety. His fingertips unconsciously rubbed against the knife's handle, as if seeking some form of reassurance.
Could he really... do it?
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