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Chapter 140: Earth Wasteland Arc (6)
Chapter 140: Earth Wasteland Arc (6)
An hour later, Doom Strike and Final Strike arrived at the crossroads where Feng Bu Jue and Kuangzong Jianying had encountered the troll.
“What are those?” Doom Strike pointed at the pile of metal trash emitting a rotting stench, frowning. “Some kind of trap?”
“I’d say it’s the corpse of some monster,” Final Strike replied. “Remember that explosion we heard?”
“Oh, right! It got blown to bits,” Doom Strike said, shrugging. “So… an hour ago, someone took down a monster right here—” He paused, staring at the gooey mess. “Though I can’t say what it looked like when it was still moving.”
“Big one, though,” Doom Strike added.
“We’ve already killed three or four of those orange-robed freaks,” Final Strike said. “None of them had any explosives—just anti-gravity launchers. So this explosion? Definitely Kuangzong Jianying’s doing.”
Doom Strike nodded. “Then we’re on the right track.”
Final Strike gestured down the corridor. “This basement levels lab’s huge, but it’s no maze. Most branches don’t extend far. We’ve already checked the far end of the other side. If we keep moving forward through this unexplored corridor, we’ll find them.”
Doom Strike frowned. “Still… we didn’t find any exits leading outside in the areas we searched. That means wherever this path ends, there’s probably a way out.”
“And?” Final Strike shrugged. “The synopsis said it all—sandstorms, toxic swamps, polluted oceans. Whatever’s outside is worse than this place.”
As they spoke, they reached a metal door at the end of the corridor. It stood ajar, the room beyond dark and reeking.
“Watch for ambushes or traps,” Doom Strike whispered, signaling his teammate.
Final Strike gave a silent nod, then motioned for Doom Strike to follow as they entered. They split directions—routine protocol for dark spaces.
Final Strike charged in first, flicking on his high-powered flashlight. The beam swept the room counterclockwise. Doom Strike followed closely, his own flashlight scanning clockwise.
The room was empty. Only a shattered cage and an open, empty safe remained.
“They must’ve killed the monster at the entrance, looted the safe, and left,” Doom Strike said.
“Yeah, probab—” Final Strike’s reply cut short as a muffled thud echoed.
“What happened?” Doom Strike turned.
Final Strike had face-planted spectacularly. Calmly, he pushed himself up with a one-armed pushup, wiped away the blood trickling from his nose, and stood.
“I tripped over something,” he muttered.
The two’s icy demeanor was unnerving—their voices never wavered, their pace never quickened, even in danger.
Final Strike crouched, running a hand over the empty space. “Invisible… corpse.” He identified it instantly, both because of the rancid stench and the viscous, invisible monster guts now coating his gloves.
Doom Strike stepped closer, reaching out.
“Wait—” Final Strike’s second word was drowned out as Doom Strike’s hand plunged into the chest cavity of the invisible corpse.
“Ugh!” Doom Strike grimaced, regret flooding in.
“Now that you’ve touched it, my explanation’ll be easier,” Final Strike deadpanned. “Notice how this corpse has too many fatal wounds.”
Doom Strike scowled. “Forehead cleaved open, torso slashed… are those two tearing a corpse apart or dissecting it?”
“Different attack points during combat,” Final Strike shrugged. “That’s the only plausible explanation.”
After inspecting Feng Bu Jue and Kuangzong Jianying’s handiwork, they quickened their pace. They knew any monsters ahead had likely already been dealt with.
Moments later, under the dim corridor lights, they spotted something else.
Doom Strike approached first, illuminating the object with his flashlight. “Is this… a severed head?”
Final Strike joined him, scanning the surroundings. “Where’s the body?”
“Eaten by the monster?” Doom Strike guessed.
Final Strike knelt, his pale face glistening with sweat. “The helmet’s cut is too clean—sliced by a single blade strike.” He stood abruptly. “Doom Strike… this isn’t fresh meat. The head’s desiccated. No brain pulp left, barely any blood.”
Doom Strike crossed his arms. “Conclusion?”
“We’ve seen no corpses or bloodstains along our route,” Final Strike said. “They killed someone ahead, then carried this head back here after its fluids dried. A scare tactic.”
“Trying to scare us off?” Doom Strike scoffed.
“Likely,” Final Strike said, stepping over the head. “The helmet’s punctures weren’t made by weapons. This person was dead before the decapitation—drained by a monster. They’re just playing psychological games with us. Pathetic.”
“Classic mind games,” Doom Strike chuckled. “Even the ‘Swords and Laughter’ duo isn’t immune to cheap tricks. Looks like their bravado doesn’t hold up in low levels.”
Final Strike’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s accelerate. The best way to counter them is to deny their plans.”
(End of Chapter)
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