Cold. Hard. The ground, with its rough, gravelly texture, pressed against Pei Du's numb cheek. His consciousness felt like it was sinking to the cold, dark seabed, pinned down by an invisible weight. Every attempt to rise was met with excruciating pain, tearing through his entire body, especially the right side—it felt as if it no longer belonged to him. Only a void, a burning hell, and the sensation of a cold, hard foreign body remained.
"Well…"
A suppressed groan, like the strain of an old bellows, ripped from the depths of his throat. Pei Du struggled, slowly lifting his heavy eyelids. His vision blurred, a swirling, spiderweb-like, grayish-white ceiling covered in cracks. Thick dust and dark, dried-up stains like blood clung to its edges. The light was dim, with only a few faint rays of sunlight filtering through the few twisted and distorted shards of glass remaining in the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. These rays shone diagonally, carving out patches of pale light on the floor covered in rubble and broken glass.
The air was thick with the scent of dust, the lingering smell of burnt gunpowder, and a faint, sweet, decaying odor of spores. In the distance, the dull sound of explosions and the tooth-grinding rustling of animated plant roots scraping against the ground reminded me that this was still hell, just a slightly more spacious prison.
Memories, like shattered mirrors, pierced back into his mind with sharp edges: his completely mutated, burned right arm… the hole blasted through the plant root barrier… the venomous roar of the fungal leader… the cold, ancient, enigmatic “gaze” of the plant network… and finally, the intense blankness, as if his soul had been ripped out, when the connection to his consciousness collapsed…
Pei Du suddenly turned his head!
Instantly, excruciating pain spread from his right shoulder blade throughout his body, as if pierced by countless red-hot steel needles! He endured it, his bloodshot eyes fixed on his right side.
There, it's empty.
The shoulder where his right arm once connected was now completely covered in a thick, coagulated, dark-red substance, asphalt-like and viscous. This substance wasn't cloth or a bandage, but more like a mixture of blood, mutated tissue, and some dark-red crystals secreted from his body. It exuded a strong odor of burnt protein and a strange, metallic, sweet-smelly aroma. Dark-red, mutated lines, like living roots, spread from the edges of the "asphalt" covering, crawling across the right side of his chest and extending to the lower edge of his neck. The color was as dark as congealed blood, and the veins beneath his skin took on an ominous dark red hue around the edges of the lines. A constant, bone-deep tingling, itching, and burning sensation emanated from deep within the covering, reminding him of his lost limb and the horrific changes that were taking place.
The broken arm. The broken part covered with mutated tissue.
The last trace of confusion in Pei Du's eyes was replaced by a cold, deathly silence, like a thousand years of ice. There was no fear, no sorrow, only a pile of cold ashes after a fire had burned, and deep within the ashes, a rekindled, even more violent and cold flame.
He struggled, using his only intact left hand to prop himself up. Every movement caused excruciating pain from the wounds and mutations all over his body. His bones groaned under the weight. He looked around.
This vast space, located mid-level in a high-rise building, might once have been a luxurious office. Now, only shattered walls remained. An ornate chandelier had crashed to the ground, crystal shards scattered across the floor. A massive mahogany desk had been snapped in two, and filing cabinets had overturned, papers covered in dust and stained black and moldy by an unknown slime. The massive floor-to-ceiling windows were almost completely shattered, leaving only their twisted metal frames. Beyond lay an even more dilapidated urban ruin, blanketed by the roots and fungal mats of massive, animated plants. The sky was covered in a thick, eerie, silver-gray cloud of fungi, casting an oppressive light.
Xu Shuangyao huddled a few meters away from him, her back against a relatively intact wall adorned with half a large abstract painting. Her condition was equally dire. The crown of thorns clung askew to her dark hair, dull and lifeless, with strands of hair clung to her pale cheeks by dried blood. Her eyes were tightly closed, her long lashes casting fragile shadows beneath her lids. Her breathing was shallow and rapid, and dark red blood scabs clung to her lips. Her body continued to tremble subconsciously, as if still immersed in the painful aftermath of the mental backlash and the shattered connection.
A brief respite, bought at a terrible price. But this respite is like dancing on the edge of a knife, and could be ended at any moment by the recurrence of death.
Pei Du's gaze fell on Xu Shuangyao, cold and scrutinizing, as if he were looking at an object whose value needed to be assessed. The rupture of their symbiotic connection temporarily freed him from the interference of his partner's emotions, but it also shattered the twisted "understanding" that had forced them together. A purer, colder anger and suspicion, like frozen magma, slowly surged in his chest.
He needed answers. About the "self" in that incubator. About the truth about his body, which was being consumed by the curse. Before death came again.
Pei Du braced himself on the ground with his left hand, dragging his aching, heavy body inching closer to Xu Shuangyao. His movements were slow and labored, each one accompanied by suppressed gasps and a stream of cold sweat on his forehead. He stopped less than half a meter from her, looking down at her pale, fragile face.
There were no words. Only a cold, visibly oppressive gaze, like an invisible icicle, fiercely piercing the unconscious person.
Perhaps it was the instinct for survival, or perhaps it was the intense uneasiness brought by that gaze, but Xu Shuangyao's eyelashes trembled violently a few times, and a faint whimper came from her throat, and she slowly opened her eyes.
Those eyes, once calm, sharp, and filled with the inquiring light of a scientist, now held only a blankness, pain, and deep exhaustion. Her pupils struggled to focus in the dim light. When she took in Pei Du's cold, bloodstained, and deformed face, especially the heart-wrenching fracture on his right shoulder, covered in dark red "asphalt" tissue, she was instantly gripped by a surge of fear and guilt.
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