Horror Game Designer

This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation

Standing across a narrow corridor, Gao Ming’s eyes were fixed on the lifeless body sprawled before him. The scene was macabre, the stillness of death overwhelming.

The fatal wound that had claimed the life was evident in the chest. A sharp dagger, the instrument of demise, had pierced the heart. It wasn’t just any dagger; it was adorned with a slaying talisman, its mystical powers spent in the act of murder.

This talisman paper, which Situ An had acquired from Granny, had a dark history. It did not banish evil spirits as one expected its use to be, but instead, it had been used here tonight for a more sinister purpose – to take the life of Yan Hua.

Rewinding the clock back by thirty minutes ago, Yan Hua, the very individual who had heroically saved Gao Ming from a dire predicament, was now nothing but a corpse devoid of the vitality that once animated him.

The hands that had firmly grasped Gao Ming in a moment of rescue now lay cold and motionless. These were the same hands attached to the shoulders that had borne the weight of Gao Ming, literally lifting him from a deep pit. Those once strong shoulders were now restrained by rusty chains, symbolically turning the savior into nothing more than a stepping stone, forsaken in his own act of self-sacrifice.

“You must be searching for him, aren’t you?” Situ An’s voice cut through the silence as he pulled the dagger from Yan Hua’s lifeless chest. He observed the talisman on the blade disintegrate into flying ash. “Ending his life was no simpler than exterminating a malevolent ghost. The ordeal cost the lives of many of my men.”

Situ An’s movement was precise and cold as the blade lightly grazed over Yan Hua’s face, slicing off the prominent ghost tattoo that adorned it.

Reflecting on his actions, Situ An said, “I offered him a chance to surrender. I even thought of employing him, but he spurned every proposal.” He gazed at the severed tattoo in his palm, pondering aloud, “I wonder why a man indifferent to wealth, power, or any personal desires, would choose to assist you with such devotion?”

Gao Ming, engulfed in a turmoil of emotions, stood mute. His hand was clenched tightly around the chain.

Memories of discovering the disfigured Qin Tian’s death still haunted Gao Ming like a surreal fog. Stepping into Qin Tian’s role at the Investigation Bureau, Gao Ming was constantly reminded of his predecessor. Through Qin Tian’s journals, photographs, and videos, Gao Ming had painstakingly reconstructed the life story of a man who was never to return.

Later, when Gao Ming personally selected his team members, including Yan Hua and Wan Qiu, he unknowingly led them onto a path fraught with danger. At that time, he had not dwelled much on the risks. Consumed by thoughts of disasters and ghosts, he honestly never braced himself for the loss of someone dear to him again, or in simpler terms, he wasn’t ready to bid another farewell.

A numbness towards death, almost like an illness, seemed to have crept into his being, creating an internal void.

Raising the hand that was gripping the chain, Gao Ming pointed accusingly at Situ An. “Since the very first time I laid eyes on you, I’ve harbored the desire to kill you. That impulse has never left me and has only grown.”

“Really?” Situ An asked, his tone nonchalant as he carelessly tossed aside the remnants of the tattoo. “The first time I laid eyes on you, I could tell you were different from the other investigators. Your temperament, your gaze – they were unique. I found myself admiring you, even feeling a bit uneasy. Had it not been for that malevolent ghost wreaking havoc, you would likely have met your end in Room 9 of Building B’s underground level.”

“Don’t act rashly. Go underground first!” Xuan Wen urged, his gaze filled with reason. “You’ve already secured the Heart of Mortality. All you need to do now is eliminate the primary will of the Flesh Immortal, and you’ll gain the Heart of Deity. Possess the power of flesh, and you become the sovereign of this apartment. It’s crucial you make the right move, or else more lives will be lost.”

“Your decision is ultimately inconsequential,” Situ An declared with a grim finality, stepping nonchalantly over Yan Hua’s body. “Everyone here is fated to die anyway. Bring the body with us. We’re going to descend and confront the Flesh Immortal.”

As they made their way through the corridors to the first underground floor of Building A, a noticeable transformation had occurred. The scent of flesh hung heavily in the air, a harbinger of the grotesque scene that awaited them.

The infrastructure bore the scars of recent chaos. Cracks marred the walls and floor. The signboard that once marked the entrance to the restaurant had fallen, and a significant portion of the corridor’s ground had collapsed, impacting the Flesh Shrine as well.

The shrine itself was in disarray. Twisted pipes had punctured its top, and the human skin portraits that had once adorned its interior were now strewn about, their pallid faces eerily gazing at the people and ghosts in the corridor as though they were waiting for them to share their fate.

“Someone has been here before us,” Xuan Wen whispered cautiously. “The primary will of the Flesh Immortal is still present. We are in its domain now; we must tread with utmost caution!”

“Our first task is to eliminate Situ An, then we can focus on the rest. This man poses too great a threat,” was the shared sentiment among the group.

Gao Ming and Situ An, positioned on opposite ends of the corridor, each bore the weight of a grim prophecy Granny had revealed: by the end of the night, one of them would certainly be dead.

The enticing aroma of flesh emanating from the shrine beckoned the deranged flesh-eaters. These twisted monstrosities, along with humans driven mad by their innermost desires, all sporting blood-red eyes, converged in a frenzied rush towards the Flesh Shrine.

What unfolded was a scene devoid of any sophisticated tactics – it was pure, raw combat. The repugnant smell of blood mixed with the overpowering stench of flesh, created a nauseating atmosphere. Blood splashed and spattered, quickly transforming the already crowded corridor into a true hell on earth, where the primal instincts of survival and destruction reigned supreme.

Qing Ge was a man seemingly born for the heat of battle. With Situ An’s guidance, he had become proficient in every fighting technique known to humanity. At this pivotal moment, Qing Ge was engaged in intense hand-to-hand combat with a ghost, his strength and skill evident as he overpowered the struggling specter.

This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation

Situ An, brandishing a meat cleaver with an unnerving calmness, glanced at Gao Ming and remarked, “Fear only arises when one lacks the means to confront it. It’s been ages since I’ve felt fear.”

With a resolute expression, Gao Ming countered, “I am not like you; I am engulfed by fear every day. Yet, despite my fears, I continue to press forward.” With these words, he grasped a chain and lunged into the fray.

“I have dedicated twenty years to preparing for this very moment. Do you truly think you can simply snatch it away from me? Do you honestly believe I am the one who is in the wrong?” Situ An retorted, skillfully deflecting attacks with his knife. Both he and Gao Ming had consumed the ‘flesh’, which rendered them resilient to immediate death from their wounds. Situ An was confident that Gao Ming lacked the means to fatally wound him, yet he himself still had an ace up his sleeve – a potent talisman of slaying.

“Twenty years of preparation?” These words of Situ An unveiled a critical revelation, one that seemed deeply ingrained yet stood in stark contradiction to Gao Ming’s earlier assumptions.

In a frenzied clash of violence, both sides wagered everything, their lives hanging in the balance.

The slaughter grew increasingly vicious. Some investigators, having ingested the flesh, expended their final ounces of strength. Their minds were overwhelmed by the influence of the “meat,” leading them to devolve into mere puddles of blood and water. The residents of the twisted apartment, despite their injuries inflicted by the wounded investigators, also faced their own peril, with some dissolving into shadowy remnants amidst the chaos of slashing blades.

The number of combatants in the corridor steadily diminished, and the blood and flesh of the fallen, along with their lingering resentments and wills, gradually seeped into the floor.

In a remote corner, tendrils of blood spread out, blossoming into grotesque flowers that exuded a carnivorous scent.

The walls of both the shrine and the corridor at the basement level began to give way, unveiling a colossal blood pool beneath the Sishui Apartment. This sinister reservoir had been a silent witness, accumulating all the past twenty years’ hatred, agony, and prayers.

Several residents of the apartment and mindless investigators, caught off-guard, plummeted into the blood pool. Their frantic struggles were futile; escape from the clutches of the blood pool was an impossibility.

“Gao Ming!” a familiar voice resonated from within the gruesome flesh and blood shrine. As the walls crumbled, the innermost chamber of the shrine was exposed for all to see.

In the clandestine chamber, once adorned with paintings crafted from human skin, stood a grotesque statue, a depiction of a deity made of flesh and blood. To label it merely as a statue would be to downplay its horror; this idol, towering over any human, boasted skin so lifelike it seemed to pulsate with life. It extended its eight arms outward, each limb clutching a paper person, forming a sinister canopy in the enveloping darkness.

The victims of the family massacre case from twenty years ago were being grotesquely integrated into the statue right now. Their collective resentment and hatred seeped into the idol, endowing it with eerily human emotions. In a macabre display, human features like eyes, noses, and mouths began to emerge slowly within the palms of its many hands.

Beneath the sprawling eight arms, four faceless visages loomed, each representing different aspects of the apartment building’s dark history: life, desire, death, and sin.

The lower half of this deity, deeply rooted in the blood pool like a sinister, ancient tree, was the source of the cry that had called out to Gao Ming. There, Gong Xi was found, his back to the idol, prostrated in mourning for his grandmother. Nearby, Zhao Xi lay in a heap, his mangled body unmoving. Wu Bo, the talisman seller who had been a constant presence, was conspicuously absent, having disappeared without a trace.

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