Oliver thought that what awaited him would be the severe pain of burning or tearing his limbs, but unexpectedly, no pain of any kind appeared immediately. As if being swallowed into the belly of a giant beast, the hot and humid aura instantly enveloped him.
The moment Oliver realized that he was falling, the hard armor hit something slippery. His feet touched the ground first, and he almost instinctively made a cushioned roll so that the bones would not break under the impact.
The heavy armor was undoubtedly a burden at the moment, and Oliver struggled to get up from the overly soft "ground", and was extremely vigilant about this abnormal smoothness. His brain seemed to have frozen in an abnormally high fever, and thinking had become a particularly difficult thing. He didn't dare to open his mouth to breathe, for fear that the thick liquid air would cause him to vomit.
He was still alive, but this time Oliver wasn't happy about it.
Endless exhaustion and sadness overwhelmed him. One can at a certain moment muster up the courage to take a step and throw oneself from the heights. But when that brief moment has passed, it becomes especially difficult to give up again.
He has reached the limit, and his will is like a dead tree that has been eaten by worms, and it may collapse at any time.
A strange feeling climbed up the back of Oliver's neck, and the hairs on his neck stood up instantly. He ignored the muscles that were sore and spasmed, and he waved his sword to resist without hesitation—with a spurt of pus and blood, a sharp end. The fleshy wrist shrank back. It was as thin as a child's arm, as if several undeveloped arms were intertwined.
It only had time to pierce the side of his neck and scrape a shallow layer of flesh.
The burning pain followed. Oliver hadn't had time to think about what those were, and more fleshy wrists poked over from one side along with inexplicable babble. He could only chop at those things mechanically, trying his best to ignore the tiny screams coming from the darkness. As the attacks of flesh wrists became more and more intensive, he subconsciously retreated to the place where flesh wrists were scarce, and almost stepped on the air.
It was getting hotter and hotter, and his already extremely dehydrated body was sweating. Oliver began to feel suffocation, not sure if it was simply the temperature rise or the loss of air. He just felt like he was going to be roasted to death here.
But I don't know why, the temperature suddenly dropped a little at a certain moment, and the air was a little fresh. The cool air like a key to heaven was blowing from a certain direction, and then quickly dissipated.
After exhausting his strength and waved off another wave of attacks, Oliver bought himself time to look at his environment. He stepped back vigilantly, leaning in the direction of the breath that had just been blown.
Under the faint light, he finally saw the space where he was. Perhaps this was what Randy called a "furnace of flesh"—the top of the semicircle shrouded in darkness, and he was stepping on a hole-strewn, slightly quivering platform of flesh.
It looks like a fleshy plate with countless holes poked, or some kind of diseased and proliferating organ. Dense fleshy wrists protruded from the bottomless hole, constantly attacking all living things. And beyond the slightly raised edge is a void, from which there is a sour chewing sound and whispering.
A little further away seemed to be the furnace wall, which was so far apart that Oliver could only make out a little writhing pattern in the dark. Immediately after, his attention was drawn to the light source—
Phosphorescent sarcomas slid around on the filaments that covered the forge, like dew moving along a spider's thread. Each sarcoma illuminates a face of terror or despair.
These things are positioning them.
Yes, he's not alone here. Oliver had thought that Randy's "waiting for you down there" was referring to dead bodies, but things were much worse than that—the people he was in the same room with, they were all still alive.
No, it should be said that most of them are still alive.
The people around him were being entangled in flesh wrists. Oliver subconsciously wanted to split the strange flesh with malicious intentions, but his legs were sinking like lead. Before he could lift his feet, the flesh wrists suddenly stretched out. Long, pulled the man directly away from the original place, and pressed it in the direction of the furnace wall.
He couldn't save himself, and this time he didn't have time to save the other party.
The continuously rising temperature dropped again, and the sarcoma that had illuminated the man suddenly went out. I don't know if it was his illusion, but the furnace wall seemed to be getting closer.
And people subconsciously gather in one direction.
Oliver was close enough now that he could see the thing—a narrow platform the size of two books side by side in the middle of the fleshy ring full of blood vessels and mucus. It looked hard and gleaming white, from where the relieving coolness and fresh air was blowing, and then dissipated quickly.
a temptation.
Oliver's heart was cold, he probably guessed the gatekeeper's plan, if he guessed correctly—
"Even though you are the lowest level ants, you still have a chance."
The distant voice drifted from nowhere.
"Only one person can survive, and those who survive can go directly to the mobile barracks. We still cherish talents, and don't believe in the so-called no survivors."
lie.
Oliver thought numbly, this situation is not right. If it's just to maintain the furnace with living losers, they don't need to arrange a fight with Randy, and there is no need to wait for him to fall to start it all. After all, Randy must not be as stubborn as himself, and he will definitely not hesitate to kill people. No matter how he looks at it, the use value is higher than him.
In the situation just now, he probably killed Randy on the spot, but when he was about to shoot, the goalkeeper did not have a special reaction. But if he said he had received special treatment, Randy's first few attacks could definitely kill him, and the gatekeeper still didn't respond.
Instead, when he conceded and Randy had another chance to kill him, the keeper threw him into the crucible.
It's like... they're sure he's going to win, and they're waiting for him to throw in the towel.
Why do you want to do this? Oliver thought hard, this is not the treatment of the so-called "waste". The current situation is more like a stage set in advance. More sinister, more cruel.
But his mind was running more and more slowly.
Is this what they want? Oliver looked at the sword in his hand. He was tired, really very tired. Just want to rest in peace. I don't want to think anymore, I don't want to persist.
On the other hand, gatekeepers are encouraging people to devour each other in desperation. They recognized that people would fight each other for the only remaining piece of peace, until there was only one left.
If that's what the gatekeepers want, they're almost there. He did feel wronged, confused, and hopeless. Everything in front of him was tiresome—if the situation continued to deteriorate, if those people attacked him again. He would probably really pick up the sword, use his instinct to fight a bloody path, and then wait for his death in relative comfort.
But he couldn't figure out what the other party wanted from it.
The temperature was getting higher and the air seemed to start to boil. The thick armor seemed to have become a torture tool, and the water in Oliver's body was almost evaporated to dryness. The young knight twitched the corners of his mouth, but failed to laugh. He doesn't know if the gatekeeper is watching, if he wants him to break everything, if he wants him to kill - or whatever.
Then maybe he can really give up and use the quietest way. Like his father, he chose to end before the worst came.
Choose a dignified death as the last resistance.
The fleshy wrist reached Oliver's neck again, this time he didn't dodge it. Oliver let go of all his strength and tried to hit the collar—unsurprisingly, the pain from the collar brought him to one knee.
As he thought, no miracle happened.
This is indeed the end. An embarrassing, painful, silent death. His vision gradually blurred, and Oliver simply closed his eyes.
He still has a lot of things he wants to do, and a lot of things he wants to say. But he had time to leave the last message, which made the imminent death not so difficult.
wrong.
Since people's death can bring a moment of stability, why is the temperature of the air still rising
The pain of the fleshy wrist rubbing against the skin did not strike.
Oliver struggled to open his eyes, trying to look around. In the weak and blurred vision, those bright lights are still flickering. His roommates were very quiet, watching him from the dark. Just like the first day, they continued to observe patiently, like insects hiding in dark crevices.
No one moved, no one rushed to the only oasis, no one killed each other.
"Yuri Killian," said a voice, which was close and unexpectedly familiar.
The big man using the meteor hammer threw the broken wrist on the ground and spat with difficulty in the hotter air. "I still hate you, boy. I still can't figure out why you didn't do it... but it doesn't matter."
"At this point, it's boring," he said. "But I do have a name, Yuri Killian."
"I have to be more of a man than your little white face." He raised his head and ripped his throat. "Fuck. You, the gatekeeper—want me to be obedient till the end? A fucking dream!"
He let out a shrill, angry laugh. "My name is Yuri Killian! I like big-ass women in Willard's—"
The big man kicked Oliver's knee. Oliver, who was about to be dragged off the platform by his fleshy wrist, staggered and fell forward. The opponent's kick was so hard that it almost exhausted his last physical strength. Oliver nearly fainted, holding the slippery flesh in his hands. And the sturdy man walked carelessly to the edge of the raised platform of flesh and blood.
Then jump off.
After a few seconds, the sarcoid that followed him went out.
anger.
"Samantha Gru." After a long silence, a trembling female voice sounded from the darkness, "I'm just a refugee, I... I have nothing to like, I'm afraid. I don't want to be killed by you, but I also … I don’t want to kill either, I don’t like to kill, I don’t like…”
She shook her head, her lower lip bitten into blood. The nervous woman glanced at Oliver.
"I don't like it!" she screamed, then jumped off too.
fear.
"Nelle Nicole. Garland national, prisoner of war. I'm sure I won't live... but I want to go home. I really do."
despair.
"Hackett Dalton. They say the only people out here are dead and murderers, so you better get the fuck out of here, Ramon... is your name Ramon?" the man shrilled. "Let them have a look!"
hatred.
People take a step and throw themselves into the darkness. Oliver wanted to stand up and wanted to say something, but his eyesight was rapidly weakening away from him, and he could only see dim firelight.
The lights are dwindling, one after another.
He wanted to shout something, but his voice couldn't make a sound. Do something, he thought, he couldn't take it. At least stand up first... At least first...
"Philip Sprott, fuck the world."
"Lilyn... Only Lilyn, I like blue."
…
In the end, there were only two lights left.
Oliver stabbed a sword into his right calf, hoping the pain would keep him awake. It can't be like this, he thought dimly, he had already decided to escape, but was nailed into the bitter reality.
He can't take it.
A pair of feet appeared in front of him, and Oliver raised his head to try to see the other's face.
"I don't want to die," said the man tremblingly. "I'm afraid, I don't want to die!"
"... But you know what? Just, just for a short while, I and you are completely equal."
Oliver swallowed the air, and the low figure approached suddenly. It's just that it wasn't an attack, but a trembling embrace.
"Micah Draper," said the mole-like man, his voice getting weaker. "I'm sure I'll regret it, it's just silly. How could I, how could I really die for a bottle of perfume? But..."
"Thank you for... trying to save me."
There is only one light left.
Oliver knelt blankly on the empty platform, he wanted to die, too weak to die at any moment. The blur in front of me fluctuated a little, as if there was fluid running down the skin.
That's it. He can still cry.
Yes, father.
Oliver inserted his sword into the flesh, dragged his body, and struggled toward the middle of the empty platform. He could recover some strength there, and even though it might all be a lie, a teasing, he could live an extra second.
Those who are defined as mean and worthless. Evils that are deemed impossible to change. They finally chose to resist at the last moment, maybe they were not at all out of kindness, but at least for that short moment...
Do not.
Perhaps there is no such definition of "good" and "bad", people are just choosing. He ignores the fact that everyone is constantly choosing, to give or to take, and the price they bring.
It is not a pre-defined "role" of good and evil, but a constantly changing "state" intertwined by one choice. And in that quiet, time when no choice is needed... They are just "people".
Chaotic, selfish and free.
He didn't save anyone in the end. He was the one saved by the hero.
Up to now, it seems that he is not qualified to die easily.
… very smooth. The test area management thought so.
All went well beyond imagination, the life response kept dying, and in the end there was only one left. And under the continuous cruel impact, the weak life response did not disappear.
It must have been Ramon, who finally got his hands on it. This development is so perfect that the management of the test area trembles. Now the opponent's spirit should be fragmented. After the impact, the magic circle that expands negative emotions needs to be adjusted to the highest value—
"Success!" A scream full of disbelief, "God, the power shock is complete!... Ramon is not dead!"
"The power of the magic circle is adjusted to the maximum, and the emotional readings are monitored in real time." The glasses manager waved his hand, and the light joy lifted him up. He seemed to be drunk, and the air was filled with surprising happiness. sense. "Now we can bet, and guess what, Della, what form will the creation take? Huge chunks of meat, or—"
"You are really optimistic." The middle-aged man's unsalty voice came. "Take a good look at the mood readings."
The glasses manager glanced casually, then took off the glasses in disbelief, wiped them, and put them on again. He woke up instantly from his slightly drunken happiness, and fell into an ice cave.
"Why is his consciousness still there?!"
His cold sweat penetrated the fabric behind his back in an instant, because in the next second, the researcher himself came to the conclusion—
There is no negative emotion that can be expanded, then the will naturally cannot be destroyed.
No anger, no fear, no despair, no hatred.
There was only one emotion, and its readings filled the upper limit of the counter. Emotions that are rare here, they usually hardly pay attention to that column—
sad.
"Destroy the Flesh Furnace." The glasses manager trembled and ordered, "I will immediately activate the Bone Jade Bomb to completely destroy the Flesh Furnace! Give me the maximum defense!"
They couldn't control him, no, it—they weren't sure if there was any normal sanity in the thing that survived. Although protective measures have been taken in advance, the power of the bone jade is still enough to blast most of the withered castle.
They themselves may not survive, but that's not the point.
The management gritted his teeth and quickly confirmed the complicated activation spell. When he finished the last rune, he even had a kind of despairing pleasure in his heart. That thing has just been born, and it is estimated that it will not control its power very much. The only way to destroy it is now—
That's right, they have successfully created a creature outside the law, even if it only exists for a short time, this is undoubtedly a great breakthrough. Using the most insignificant part of human beings, they have created miracles beyond the truth.
Bone jade bomb. The bomb will explode in the next instant, and the rich abyss magic will devour all living things.
So as a pioneer, even if you die at this time...
One minute.
two minutes.
five minutes.
Everything is still quiet.
"What happened, why didn't it explode?!"
"No..." The red-robed old man swallowed hard, "It exploded."
"Could it be Ramon—"
"No." The middle-aged man in the stack of books stood up and showed an intriguing smile. The magic pressure over there is too strong, and the surveillance bugs can't approach, but he will never get that feeling wrong. "It's abyss magic."
The style of the bone jade bomb is very delicate, and it can even be displayed in the noble's study as a work of art. And this piece of bone jade is especially huge, like the head of a baby. Layers of magic circles revolved around it, and countless magic stones were precisely inlaid on it.
It did blow up. It's just that after the explosion spread out by one centimeter, it dissipated like a cloud of smoke.
Nemo patted the ashes in the palm of his hand, and he stood there quietly for a few seconds.
"Thank you both," Nemo said softly, bowing to the strange men and women who were leading the way. His voice was very calm, but his body trembled uncontrollably. "Next, please stay away from here, the farther the better."
"Ramon is still in the furnace, that's the thing in front of you." The tall man subconsciously moved away from the black-haired youth, and the scars on his face looked a bit hideous. "You really don't—"
"No. He doesn't need my help... at least not now."
The black furnace plunged into the sky, with spiral steps coiling around its edge, so wide that the edge could not be seen at a glance. And now it's split in two, with the top half sliding diagonally to one side. Grey mist poured out of the gap and enveloped the furnace.
In the next instant it ceased to exist, leaving no trace at all.
,Wonderful!
(m.. = )