Mo Yi was leaning against the old twisted door behind him, the cold touch was imprinted on his back through the thin clothes, there was rhythmic bang bang sound coming from behind the door, and the vibration came along the door panel, which almost made him feel uncomfortable. All the five internal organs of the body trembled.
The voice came persistently from downstairs through the thin walls, humming a repeated melody in a low voice.
Combined with the monotonous sound of knocking doors behind him, it sounds particularly eerie and creepy.
Mo Yi leaned back hard, and pressed the door panel that didn't fit the door frame inward a little.
Fortunately, the players who were confused were not too aggressive like puppets, and their movements were stiff and not large. Otherwise, he really couldn't guarantee whether he could make those three normal-sized players stand behind the door.
Mo Yi raised his eyes and glanced at the end of the corridor. The bodies of Zhou Yunchen and Wang Zhu fell limply on the ground. Under the cover of tall debris, they looked like two piles of fuzzy and undulating shadows.
Mo Yi believes in Ivy's ability - they probably won't wake up for a while.
He lowered his eyes slightly, then stretched out his hand and pulled the backpack on his back, and opened the zipper. Then, he held the flashlight in one hand, and reached into the backpack with the other—
He took out the personal leather book that he hastily stuffed into his backpack.
The soft touch that belongs to the skin comes from under the fingertips, and the dry skin lines are clearly visible under the pale light of the flashlight, with a faint dark halo, and you can feel a kind of creepy evil just by looking at it strength.
Mo Yi took a deep breath, ignored the looming singing in front of his ears and the uninterrupted slapping behind his back, and then opened it.
According to the letter paper in the small box, this book should have been passed down by Ivy’s grandmother. She herself was burned to death as a witch, but this book was still passed down in her family, and it was passed down to the Ivy's hands.
And the sacrificial ceremony she arranged to resurrect her child was also found in this book.
Mo Yi quickly and carefully flipped through the pages, and the slight friction sound of the pages was very clear in the narrow and dark corridor.
Different from the Latin and English manuscript he found in that cemetery before, this book is written entirely in Latin, without using any English, and it is also mixed with a lot of weird symbols. According to In terms of shape, it is a bit like a branch of the ancient Semitic language.
Mo Yi frowned in annoyance, feeling a little irritable in his heart.
The ancient language he knew was basically limited to the few basic books he had read roughly, and now it was almost impossible to translate the things related to professional mysticism in this book.
It's like sitting on a gold mine without the tools to dig it.
Mo Yi pursed his lips in annoyance, his pale face was rarely tainted with a trace of personal emotion, and looked a bit childish under the dim light in the corridor.
He secretly set a goal in his heart: after he gets out of this dungeon, he must learn this aspect well.
While thinking wildly in his heart, Mo Yi continued to turn backwards with some lack of interest.
And as he turned the pages of the book, he saw a yellowed corner of the paper slightly falling out of half of the human skin.
Mo Yi was taken aback, and quickly turned over the page of the book, only to see that half of the handwritten manuscript was sandwiched inside the book. It seemed that half of it had been torn off, and the lower half was cut off by uneven tear marks. It looks extremely familiar.
His eyes lit up suddenly, and then he hurriedly opened the side pocket of his backpack, and took out the manuscript he found in the tomb.
There are still traces of mud and blood on it, and the dense ink writing looks clear and smooth, exactly the same as the paper sandwiched in the human skin book.
Mo Yi folded the two sheets of paper up and down, and with his movements, the crooked tear marks on them were perfectly closed.
He pursed his dry lips a little excitedly, and his breathing was a little rapid.
There are more English on this piece of paper. Although there are still a lot of Latin mixed in, with Mo Yi's simple foundation, he can guess a lot.
He laid the two manuscripts flat on the ground, held the flashlight in one hand, and the open human skin book in the other, his eyes wandered between the two, trying to conceive and organize sentences in his mind. Sentences, words and different combinations of words.
Unknowingly, the singing in my ears stopped without knowing when.
A strange and thick silence enveloped, spreading and rising like a tide, clogging every pore.
Mo Yi broke free from his own thoughts, he was stunned for a few seconds, and then looked down at the watch on his wrist: there are less than 20 minutes left in this hour.
The singing ended suddenly... something was wrong.
Mo Yi raised his vigilance to 120,000, raised his head and looked around—
There is only darkness in front of my eyes, no corridors, no houses, no singing, no door panels vibrating behind.
Nothing at all.
There is only the thick and insoluble darkness, which is suffocatingly condensed in the borderless space, as quiet as the darkness that has not changed since ancient times, the cold feeling climbs up the calf, and breathes out the cold breath like a snake. Xinzi wrapped her sticky and silky body around his limbs and slowly moved upwards.
Mo Yi's breathing changed for a moment, and a little confusion and bewilderment flashed in his eyes.
He couldn't tell where he was.
Is it in the dungeon, or is it in my own nightmare.
There was a muddy soft touch under his feet, slowly absorbing him, using his gravity to pull his body and fall downwards, the heavy darkness squeezed his chest cavity, causing every cell in him to wither in the lack of oxygen , like falling into a dream that is hard to wake up from.
Serene and calm.
A strange feeling eroded his sanity, tempting like honey, trying to pull him into a deep, deep sleep.
Mo Yi's pupils were a little out of focus, his eyelids closed slowly, and his long eyelashes gradually moved closer to his lower eyelashes.
At this moment, he bit the tip of his tongue fiercely.
Spreading out together with the sharp pain was the strong smell of blood in his mouth, rolling between his lips and tongue like rust, which instantly awakened his mind.
The voice in his ear changed from small to loud, and gradually became clear from hazy and blurred, as if someone was speaking in his ear.
Mo Yi raised his head in a daze, his out-of-focus pupils searched in vain, trying to find the source of the sound.
"-are you OK?"
The familiar low-pitched male voice is magnetic and elegant, as if it can cause faint vibrations in the air, and there seems to be some deep and turbulent emotion hidden in the cold voice.
Mo Yi blinked, and belatedly realized that he was still sitting in the corridor, but the difference was that he had bent half of his legs now, as if he was about to stand up, and the door panel behind him was also opened by his movement. And opened a gap.
The louder the vibration and sound of knocking on the door, almost made Mo Yi fall forward.
He hastened to push back, his palms firmly pressed against the ground, rubbing against the dirty and rough carpet felt painful, a burst of great strength burst out of his body, and he pushed the door back again.
Mo Yi took a deep breath, a dense layer of cold sweat broke out from behind his back, and a sense of horror came over him, making his whole body icy cold.
The dark corridor, the vibrating door panel behind, and the faint singing in my ears returned again.
He almost let down his vigilance just now, and was confused by the singing.
... In this dungeon, you really can't take it lightly for a while.
Mo Yi pressed the sharp and painful tip of his tongue against his palate. There was still a strong smell of rust in his mouth. The bloody smell spread to the esophagus and nasal cavity along with the pain, making him more awake.
The male voice sounded in his ear again: "—are you okay?"
It was the sound of fog.
Mo Yi blinked, paused, and then replied: "...not bad."
It was only when he opened his mouth that he realized how hoarse his voice was, and the burning pain in his throat almost shocked him.
Mo Yi thought for a while, and then asked hesitantly: "Can you talk at this time?"
The other party laughed, and then replied: "Only after the rules of this dungeon no longer exclude me."
"It doesn't reject you now?" Mo Yi cleared his throat, trying to make his voice normal.
"...not yet, so I'm limited in what I can say."
The voice of the mist was deep.
Mo Yi pursed his lips, wondering if he was very surprised, this game is like a control freak, if he can break through the restrictions in the dungeon so easily, he will start to suspect if there is a fraud in it.
He spoke again, speaking a little faster and said:
"This hour is about to end, but because of you, it still has nothing, so that monster is ready to kill the net and make a final blow. I was worried that you would be hit, so I opened my mouth."
After finishing speaking, Misty smiled softly:
"I didn't expect you didn't need my help at all."
Mo Yi frowned slightly, and before he could say anything, Wu Qi continued:
"The monster of this hour is already at the end of its strength, and it is no longer to be feared-you have to be careful, it is the next one."
There was a trace of solemnity in his cold voice:
"Buried in the ground on Sunday, Solomon's last day."
Mo Yi's brows were slightly startled, and he looked down at the watch on his hand: there are only five minutes left in this hour.
The singing voice in the background has begun to weaken and become breathless, and now even if you listen carefully, it is difficult to make out the clear lyrics.
As the second and minute hands on the watch advanced one by one, the sound became lower and lower and weaker.
Finally, it softly sang the last sad tune, and the ending sound slowly dissipated in the air:
"My love, oh, come to me..."
Then the surroundings became silent again.
There was no longer a repetitive and monotonous knock on the door behind him, and the players behind him seemed to return to their senses the moment the sound disappeared.
There were low moans and vague conversations coming from inside the door.
Mo Yi's stiff and cold fingers moved slightly, then reached out to pick up the paper pages and human skin books on the ground, and put them back in his newspaper.
In the dark eyes under the long eyelashes, there is no relaxation of escape, but a deep solemnity.
It's the last hour left now.
[Buried on Sunday.
This is the end]
Buried in the earth on Sunday, such was the life of Solomon Grundy.