Song Wudeng curled up his bony back and walked like a zombie in the chaos of death and rebirth.
Those grayish-white tentacles were not static webs, but nerve endings extended from some ancient existence. Every spasm caused morbid ripples in the space.
The fog is not simply water vapor, but a gelatinous torrent formed by the corpses of billions of microorganisms. When it sticks to the skin, it makes a sucking sound like a baby crying.
Outside the cave, creation and doomsday are happening simultaneously.
The skeletons of the mountains were twisted into Möbius strips by some force beyond geometry, and the rivers hung upside down in the air, forming crystal-like blood clots.
Most terrifying of all were the swimming giants—swarms of jellyfish that rivaled the Himalayas, their translucent canopies swirling with nebulous entrails, each pulsation tearing iridescent scars across the ionosphere.
After these prehistoric beasts passed by, inscriptions engraved in negative space would always appear in the sky. Those twisted wedge-shaped symbols were like fragments of memory burned directly onto the retina.
Song Wudeng's bloodshot eyes suddenly trembled violently.
He recognized them; those floating inscriptions were strikingly similar to the cracks that were deeply etched in his memory.
This discovery made him retch phosphorescent bile - it turned out that the civilization he believed in might have always lived in a specimen bottle of some higher-dimensional creature, and at this moment the bottle was being cracked by unknown fingers.
In the distance came the roar of a glacier breaking, and he saw several jellyfish feeding on a still-beating organ the size of a continental plate.
His body was twisted like a pretzel, and he struggled to crawl through the narrow world, as if he had completely lost control of his body.
However, behind this crazy behavior, he had a strange feeling - he felt that he was not really crazy, on the contrary, his mind was unusually clear.
Suddenly, he seemed to see something terrible, his body trembled violently, and then he stumbled backward as if pushed by a huge force.
His heartbeat quickened rapidly, and a thin layer of sweat appeared on his forehead, as if he had just experienced a nightmare.
His spiritual vision was so unique that even his mentor praised him highly, believing that he was born to be in this field.
This spiritual picture is almost passed down from generation to generation in his family. According to his grandfather, this is because it comes from the inheritance of a mysterious "Jian".
In daily life, he usually tells others that his ability is mainly reflected in searching and exploring, and he can easily find any clues no matter how subtle they are.
He is like a natural seeker, with a keen sense of smell and insight for the truth.
However, his real strength lies not only in this.
His greatest ability, and the basis for his ability to find the truth, is the "clarity" brought to him by his spiritual vision.
This clarity allows him to remain calm and rational in any situation, not be swayed by emotions, and always be able to think clearly about problems.
But what about now? What's going on now?
Just now, Song Wudeng felt his heart suddenly stop and his pupils shrank to the size of a needle tip.
Beneath the chaotic, swirling sky, a certain existence beyond cognition is slowly revealing its terrifying outline—
It was definitely not a white bear, nor a sea otter, nor even a creature that could be described in any known mythology.
Its body stretched across the shattered sky, like a pale scar tearing through reality, stretching to the end of the sight with no end in sight.
Its hair was not the usual white, but a pale color between corpse wax and frost. Each strand of hair squirmed like a living thing, dragging a sticky, spider-like trail in the void.
The monster's head lowered slightly, as if it was examining this crumbling world, and Song Wudeng—who was as tiny as a speck of dust—could actually feel the weight of that gaze, cold and sticky, like countless tiny insects crawling inside its skull.
Its fangs are not simply sharp, but are composed of a kind of crystallized time. Each fang reflects the devastation of a different era: glaciers collapse, continents sink, and civilizations turn to dust in screams.
The most crazy thing is the pair of wings that cover the sky and the sun - if they can still be called wings.
They are not made of flesh and blood, but are made up of countless layers of folded space. The surface is covered with scarlet and black intertwined lines, sometimes pulsating like blood vessels, and sometimes cracking like rift valleys.
Even more terrifying are the "patterns" embedded in the wing membranes. Sometimes they close like deep holes, and sometimes they open, revealing wriggling, malicious pupils inside - each one is staring at a different dimension, and each one is whispering incomprehensible truths.
At this moment, Song Wudeng fell to the ground, blood oozing from his eardrums.
Because he heard it, it was not a sound, but an echo that was directly imprinted on his nerves: an ancient, chaotic roar that did not belong to any language.
Its very presence warps reality, the air gelling around it and light being torn into spiraling fragments.
It does not belong to this world, or even to any world - it is more like the embodiment of a nightmare, a malice that existed before the birth of the universe, and is destined to devour everything in the end... "that thing".
Song Wudeng paused for a while, then slowly continued to crawl in an unknown direction.
But his feet and legs seemed to be stuck by some invisible humus and could not move.
He raised his head, and his vision was forcibly expanded by some indescribable horror——
Soon, he saw...
But at first, he thought it was a person.
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