Dusk had fallen, and the sky was heavy with storm clouds, like murky ink smeared across the heavens—oppressive and deathly silent. A dark figure drove an old, battered sedan into a desolate town. The road was riddled with potholes, strewn with gravel and dead leaves that crunched dryly under the wheels. Inside the car, there was no music, no radio—only the low hum of the engine and the occasional gust of cold wind slipping through the cracked windows.
The driver's name was Soya. His face was as cold and unyielding as forged iron, devoid of any superfluous expression. His gaze was calm, almost lifeless, like the surface of a stagnant pond. The buildings lining the roadside looked as though they had weathered a war, with cracked walls, shattered windows, and streaks of dark red trailing down to form dried, blackish stains.
He stopped the car in front of a rusted road sign, its letters barely legible beneath layers of corrosion. Squinting, he could just make out the faded words: "Huangquan Town." The surrounding landscape was suffocating in its desolation. Dry grass swayed weakly in the wind, like something clinging to life by sheer will alone. In the distance, the horizon emitted a sound—part mournful wail, part the eerie whistle of wind passing through derelict buildings.
Soya stepped out of the car with a crisp, decisive motion, a small puff of dust rising as his boots hit the ground. He surveyed the area briefly, then began walking forward, his footsteps steady and unhurried. A streetlamp nearby flickered weakly, its dim, yellow light casting a cold and unreliable glow. He paused as his eyes caught something on the roadside—a tattered stuffed bear, so filthy its original color was indiscernible. Its eyes, two crimson glass beads, reflected faintly in the light, as if staring directly at him.
He didn't linger. Continuing down the deserted street, his footsteps echoed unnervingly in the stillness. The air was thick with an indescribable stench—a nauseating mix of damp earth and the sickly-sweet rot of decay. At the end of the street stood a decrepit building, its sagging sign barely hanging on. The faded characters read: "Inn."
Pushing open the door, Soya stepped inside. The inn's interior exuded a disquieting unease. The lobby was empty, the floor coated in a layer of dust, and the corners piled with moldy, forgotten luggage. A few oil paintings adorned the cracked walls, their subjects' faces obscured—deliberately scraped away, with some edges still damp as if the act had been recent.
A tarnished bell sat on the front desk, next to a guestbook whose yellowed pages bore crooked, childlike scrawls. Soya opened it, his fingers brushing against the paper, which felt damp and clammy, like it had just been fished out of water.
A faint sound broke the silence—the careful, muted creak of footsteps descending the staircase, as though someone were trying, unsuccessfully, to mask their presence. A hunched figure emerged at the stairwell, resembling what could only be the innkeeper. He wore a wrinkled uniform, his face twisted into an unnatural smile, while his hollow eyes betrayed the lifelessness of a corpse.
"Looking for a room?" The voice was hoarse, gravelly, with an odd, unsettling cadence.
Soya didn't reply, merely offering a small nod.
The innkeeper turned and retrieved a key from beneath the counter. His hand, veined and mottled with a sickly bluish hue, was so thin the bones were nearly visible beneath the skin. Soya took the key, glancing briefly at the number etched on it: *203. *
"Second floor, last door on the left," the innkeeper muttered before disappearing into the shadows beyond the staircase, his footsteps fading into nothingness.
Soya's gaze lingered on the dim staircase for a moment before he ascended. Each step on the old wooden stairs produced a sharp, grating creak, like a long-dormant mechanism being forced back into operation. The second-floor hallway was narrow and dark, illuminated by a few feeble oil lamps whose flames flickered as though on the verge of extinguishing.
He stopped in front of Room 203. The key slid into the lock with a jarring screech of metal on metal. As the door creaked open, a wave of rancid odor rolled out—a potent cocktail of rot and dampness. The room was sparsely furnished: a bed, a desk, and a cracked mirror on the wall. The bed was in disarray, its sheets rumpled as if recently slept in. By its side lay a pair of mud-caked shoes.
Surveying the room briefly, Soya walked to the window and pushed it open. Beyond the glass was a sea of darkness, punctuated only by the twisted silhouettes of gnarled, skeletal trees clawing at the night sky. In the far distance, faint lights bobbed and swayed, like lanterns carried by unseen hands, their erratic movements impossible to decipher.
He closed the window and sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers drumming rhythmically against the desk's surface—a hollow *tap-tap* sound that cut through the oppressive silence. He didn't turn on the light. The room's shadows seemed alive, swallowing him whole, an ocean of blackness pressing in from all sides.
And then, faintly, from beyond the door, came a low murmur. The sound was fractured and intermittent, as if someone were whispering in a language that defied comprehension.
The whispers outside the door ebbed and flowed, like a school of fish drifting through the depths of the ocean, occasionally breaking the surface with cryptic intent. Soya sat quietly on the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on the thin sliver of light spilling through the crack beneath the door. The light wavered unnaturally, as if something had briefly blocked it before retreating. The whispers grew clearer, transforming into a low, rhythmic murmur, almost like a distorted prayer. Rising slowly, Soya walked to the door and rested his hand on the cold metal doorknob, feeling its icy touch. The sound outside abruptly ceased, as though someone on the other side had suddenly held their breath.
With a swift, decisive motion, he flung the door open. The hinges screeched in protest, but the hallway beyond was empty. The oil lamps lining the walls flickered weakly, their flames trembling in the stale air. On the wall, however, was a fresh smear of crimson, vibrant and wet, as though it had only just spilled from a wound. The streak trailed down the hallway, an irregular path that looked like something had been dragged across the floor.
Soya's expression remained impassive. After a brief scan of his surroundings, he stepped into the hallway, his boots making faint scraping sounds against the dusty floor. He followed the trail, each step measured and deliberate, until it led him to a partially open door at the end of the corridor. Beyond it lay darkness, from which faint, wet chewing sounds emerged—a grotesque, rhythmic tearing, like flesh being pulled apart.
Standing in the doorway, Soya made no sound. He reached out and pushed the door open, the heavy panel hitting the wall with a dull thud. The scene within snapped into clarity: a tall, gaunt figure crouched on the floor, its back turned to him, hands moving feverishly over something unidentifiable. The air was thick with the stench of blood, metallic and cloying, as dark red liquid pooled on the ground amidst scattered fragments of something unrecognizable.
Soya stepped inside without hesitation. His boot crushed something sharp beneath it, producing a brittle snap. The figure froze, then turned its head with an unnatural jerk. Its face was a horrifying sight—half stripped of skin, exposing raw, glistening muscle beneath. The mouth stretched grotesquely, the corners torn all the way to the ears, revealing jagged teeth that resembled the fangs of a predator. Its eyes were blank, milky-white voids that locked onto Soya with unsettling intensity.
A shrill scream erupted from the creature, piercing and grating, like metal scraping against glass. In a blur of motion, it lunged at him, its speed unnatural, its form a fleeting shadow. Soya shifted his weight subtly, sidestepping its claws by a hair's breadth. As it passed, his arm shot out, delivering a precise elbow strike to its jaw. The force of the blow sent a sharp crack reverberating through the room, the creature's head snapping back violently as its body was hurled against the wall with a resounding thud.
The thing writhed as it tried to rise, its movements jerky and grotesque, as though pain was a foreign concept. Soya's expression didn't waver. He advanced steadily, his steps firm and deliberate, his fingers flexing slightly, joints cracking in anticipation. Giving it no chance to recover, he lashed out with his leg, his boot slamming into the creature's knee. The sickening crunch of bone breaking filled the room, and the thing crumpled to the ground, its balance shattered.
It opened its mouth to emit a guttural, animalistic growl, dark red liquid bubbling from its throat. It clawed at the ground in a desperate attempt to push itself upright, but Soya stepped on its wrist with calculated force, the bones beneath his boot splintering audibly. Without pause, he raised his hand, his palm slicing downward like a blade, striking the creature's neck with pinpoint precision. The force of the blow sent its head lolling to one side, the neck twisted at an unnatural angle.
Silence reclaimed the room, broken only by the faint flicker of the oil lamp's flame. Soya looked down at the corpse. The creature's body was already deflating, its flesh collapsing inward as if drained of all substance, leaving only a shriveled husk of skin stretched taut over brittle bones. The acrid stench of decay intensified, thick and nauseating.
Turning away, Soya left the room, his footsteps as steady as ever. Back in the hallway, the light seemed dimmer, the flickering flames of the oil lamps struggling against an encroaching darkness. The crimson stains on the walls had spread further, winding like veins, pulsating faintly as though alive. He paused briefly at the top of the staircase, then began his descent.
At the bottom of the stairs, a low, droning hum resonated through the air—a blend of mechanical vibrations and dissonant whispers. The lobby, once empty, was now occupied by several unfamiliar figures. Their movements were stiff and unnatural, their expressions grotesquely contorted into hollow parodies of life. One of them turned its head toward Soya, its neck creaking as if on rusted hinges. Its lips pulled back into a distorted semblance of a smile, and it spoke in a voice that was not entirely human:
"Welcome back."
Su Ye's gaze swept briefly across the eerie figures. Each one moved like a puppet manipulated by invisible strings—limbs stiff, steps erratic—yet there was an undeniable sense of menace about them. He offered no response to the unsettling "welcome back," choosing instead to lift his foot and walk steadily toward the far end of the hall. His boots scraped against the floor with a muted, deliberate rhythm, as if testing the patience of the space itself. The figures did not move immediately, but their heads turned in unison, necks twisting at unnatural angles. The faint grinding of bones echoed, like rusted gears forced into motion.
The dim yellow light in the hall began to flicker, trembling as though struggling against an unseen force. The air grew heavy, pressing against the chest like countless invisible hands, making every breath an effort. Su Ye's steps remained calm and measured. His eyes flicked to the windows on one side of the hall. The glass distorted the view outside into a swirling haze, where shadowy forms loomed and writhed, their outlines unstable, shifting like clouds of dark mist expanding and contracting.
As he approached the door leading to the rear hall, the figures behind him suddenly sprang into action. Their movements, once jerky, turned swift and predatory, as if some dormant power had been unleashed. Their chaotic footsteps echoed through the hall, a frenzied rhythm that closed in on Su Ye's back. He didn't turn. Instead, as his left foot landed mid-stride, he halted abruptly, his toe pivoting slightly. With a fluid twist, his body turned, and his right hand shot out, gripping the wrist of one of the attackers with the precision of a falcon snaring prey.
The figure's skin was cold and clammy, like a drowned corpse pulled from icy depths. Its other hand, clawed and sharp, slashed toward Su Ye's face. Su Ye's grip tightened, and with a sudden wrench, he twisted the wrist sharply. The sound of bones snapping rang out, and the hand dropped limply at an unnatural angle. Simultaneously, Su Ye's left foot kicked backward, striking another attacker's knee from the side. The second figure crumpled like a broken marionette, crashing to the floor.
In mere moments, Su Ye had assessed the nature of these "people." Despite their speed, their bodies lacked durability; joints and limbs yielded to minimal force. Their attacks were unrefined, driven by primal instinct rather than strategy, making their movements predictable and easy to counter.
The third figure leapt at him, faster than the others, its body arching mid-air like a raptor diving for prey. Its target was Su Ye's chest. He didn't retreat. Instead, he crouched slightly, his hands coiling like serpents around the attacker's outstretched arms. In one smooth motion, he redirected the figure's momentum, flipping it overhead and slamming it into the ground with bone-jarring force. The floor groaned under the impact, cracks radiating outward from where the body struck. The figure twitched briefly before going limp.
The remaining two attackers showed no hesitation. Their mouths opened impossibly wide, emitting a shrill, piercing scream that scraped at the ears like shards of glass on steel. They charged simultaneously, attacking from both sides. Su Ye pushed off the ground lightly, his body retreating just enough to evade their claws. In the same motion, he delivered a sharp sidekick to one attacker's waist, sending it hurtling several meters away. It crashed into the wall with a dull thud, dislodging a cloud of dust and debris.
The other attacker capitalized on the momentary opening, its razor-sharp claws mere inches from Su Ye's throat. In a flash, his left hand darted out, gripping the creature's neck. The skin beneath his fingers was damp and frigid, reminiscent of a deep-sea predator hauled to the surface. With a slight increase in pressure, Su Ye crushed its windpipe, the sickening crunch of cartilage silencing its screams. The body collapsed, lifeless, like a stringless puppet.
The hall fell silent again, but the oppressive atmosphere only deepened. The corpses on the floor began to change, their flesh rapidly shriveling as if drained of all fluid. The desiccated husks emitted a faint rustling noise, like the skittering of countless tiny legs. Su Ye's eyes flicked toward the bodies, and he instinctively stepped back, retreating to a more open space in the center of the hall.
In the next instant, the corpses split open, their dried skins tearing apart to release a swarm of black creatures. The things scuttled out in droves, somewhere between insects and reptiles, their carapaces glinting faintly in the dim light. They moved with startling speed, emitting a faint, ominous chittering as they surged toward Su Ye.
He glanced down, gauging their range and velocity. Without hesitation, he leapt upward, his body coiled like a drawn bow. He landed lightly on the hall's central chandelier, which groaned under his weight, the chains creaking ominously. He didn't linger. With a sharp motion, he jumped down, seizing an old oil lamp from the wall as he descended. The lamp flared to life as he hit the ground, its flames licking hungrily at the oil-soaked wick.
With a swift throw, he hurled the lamp into the swarm. The glass shattered on impact, spilling fire across the floor. Flames roared to life, consuming the creatures in an instant. Their shrieks rose in a discordant crescendo, bodies writhing and blackening as they burned. The air filled with acrid smoke and the stench of charred flesh.
Amid the chaos, Su Ye moved through the haze, his silhouette cutting through the roiling smoke. He didn't glance back at the inferno devouring the creatures. Instead, his steps carried him unerringly toward the door to the rear hall. His pace remained steady, unhurried, as though the horrors behind him were nothing more than a passing breeze.
Su Ye pushed open the door to the back hall. The heavy wooden door groaned low and deep, like the mournful wail of an ancient beast long forgotten. Beyond the threshold lay a suffocating darkness, where light seemed not merely absent but devoured, leaving no trace. A narrow staircase descended into the abyss, its shadowy path resembling a descent into the underworld. Without hesitation, Su Ye crossed the threshold. His shoes pressed against the wooden steps, each creak slicing through the silence like a reluctant confession. The air grew damp and heavy, thick with the stench of decay—an oppressive blend of mold, rot, and time long forgotten.
At the base of the staircase, Su Ye paused momentarily. The blackness around him was unrelenting, but a sickly sweet scent wafted through the air—cloying, nauseating, a grotesque mix of rotting fruit and the metallic tang of blood. From the shadows ahead came a faint, intermittent sound, like something being dragged across the floor. He raised his gaze, and in the void, a constellation of green orbs began to emerge—glowing, pupil-less eyes suspended in the air, staring at him with an unnatural intensity.
These eyes held no humanity, no warmth—only a predatory gleam, cold and calculating. A low, thrumming hum began to reverberate, growing louder as the eyes drew closer. Su Ye's stance shifted subtly, his right foot stepping forward, his weight lowering, and his arms coiling like springs, ready to unleash a strike. The instant one pair of eyes lunged for him, his fist shot forward with lethal precision, cutting through the air with a whistle and landing squarely on the target.
The collision released a piercing, unnatural screech, and the pair of eyes exploded like fragile bubbles. For a fleeting moment, the darkness parted, revealing the grotesque forms that lurked within. They were creatures of nightmare—half-human, half-beast, their sinewy bodies coated in viscous black fluid. Their limbs were unnaturally long, and their claw-like appendages ended in blades of bone, sharp as scythes. The creature whose head Su Ye had obliterated crumpled to the ground like a marionette with its strings severed, its body dissolving into a foul-smelling sludge.
The other creatures howled in fury, their cries like the wails of the damned, and surged toward him in a chaotic wave. Su Ye's movements were fluid and relentless. As one bone blade slashed toward him, he sidestepped with an almost liquid grace, sinking low and driving his elbow into the creature's chest with the force of a battering ram. The creature's ribcage collapsed with a sickening crunch, and its body was hurled backward, splattering against the wall before dissolving into a puddle of inky liquid.
Another attacker came from behind, its blade arcing toward Su Ye's spine. Without turning, Su Ye shifted his stance, twisting into a spinning kick that connected with the creature's neck. The sheer force of the impact twisted its head grotesquely, snapping it backward with a sound like a snapped tree branch. It fell limp, convulsing briefly before dissolving into the same noxious fluid.
Despite their numbers, the creatures were no match for Su Ye's precision and ferocity. Each strike was deliberate, each movement calculated. His hands cut through the air like blades, his knees delivered crushing blows that shattered bodies with ease. Not a singl