In the corridor, bodies were strewn everywhere.
"Come on, hit me!" Ziliang sat on his own corpse, slapping his cheeks provocatively, his tone full of mockery. Lin Fan and the postman both gasped for air as they leaned against the wall, seemingly devoid of any desire to attack further. If they kept killing, the three of them would end up squeezed together, flesh against flesh. Just the thought of that scene was utterly nauseating.
"You jerk really deserve a beating!" the postman cursed. He had truly come to understand the other party's ability to disgust without biting; you couldn't kill him, and you couldn't pin him down either, because the moment he lost control of his movements, he would immediately commit suicide. How he managed that was beyond comprehension.
