MC Creative Mode: Wholesale Perpetual Motion Machine

Chapter 300 Blood Corpse

Fang Zheng stared at Zhang Biao's face and figure, which were extremely similar to those of the adult Zhang Kun, and immediately confirmed the undeniable parent-child relationship between them.

Looking at the even more desolate land outside the damaged carriage, Fang Zheng understood that this might be a timeline from the past, or a time rift in another similar world.

"In other words, my previous attempt was really successful..." The knowledge of time travel that he instilled in Zhang Kun may indeed have changed the other's worldview, enabling him to construct a self-world more closely related to time travel, thus allowing him to have a deeper level of interaction with such things.
“In that case…” Fang Zheng clenched his fist. In the dim light, he could vaguely see the light at his fingertips distorting slightly.

He looked at Zhang Kun: "If Zhang Kun, or any life form in this world, gains some level of understanding of my essence, will they be able to access this aspect of me and be precisely influenced by a part of me?"

"What? You're saying this guy is my dad?!" Zhang Kun, the boy who was seeing someone so badly injured for the first time, was stunned, his face filled with astonishment.

That's not a nice thing to say!
If a friend you just met points to a stranger who only looks somewhat like you and says that's your father, isn't that insulting him?
He was about to get angry, but looking at the seriously injured man in the carriage, he instinctively felt a sense of kinship from his familiar tall figure and similar face.

Even his family's inherited, hound-like nose detected a familiar and comforting scent. This meant that the man who looked remarkably like him and his grandfather was at least a close relative.

“Escape…” Suddenly, a faint, indistinct sound, like phlegm stuck in a throat, came from behind.

Zhang Kun's hair stood on end as he realized that his trouser leg was being tightly gripped by a large, blood-stained hand, and he almost instinctively kicked it away.

"Cough cough..." After a series of difficult coughs, a hoarse roar burst from Zhang Biao's throat: "Run!"

"That beast is coming!"

As he roared, Zhang Biao swallowed the blood in his throat and, with his weak, blood-stained hands, supported himself against the carriage, swaying as he stood up.

His eyes were stained red with blood, making it impossible for him to see or hear anything around him. He could only vaguely smell two unfamiliar young scents beside him.

And that damned beast, that vicious, bloody corpse, that nauseating stench of decay is nearby! Right next door!

As a shaman who has performed exorcisms for generations, it is his responsibility to deal with evil spirits.

Even if I perish at the hands of that beast, I will fight to the last breath to prevent the innocent child in front of me from being harmed by evil spirits!
Zhang Biao coughed up blood-tinged phlegm, his body, on the verge of collapse, forced into a distorted and grotesque dance pose. On his blood-stained, pale face, the weakness seemed to temporarily recede, and a divine light blazed in his eyes. In a rapid yet clear voice, he roared the shaman's incantation: "Undying soul! Unbreakable spirit! Come! Come! Come… lend me this body of flesh as a raft—to ferry you out of the mountains…"

As the incantation and the rough dance moves changed, an invisible force descended upon Zhang Biao's broken body.

The intense physical strain turned his eyes bloodshot, his lips forced out sharp canine teeth, and on the gruesome wound on his chest that was constantly gushing blood, black hairs like steel needles grew wildly and intertwined, forcefully blocking the huge wound.

"Wait! What the hell is this beast you're talking about...?" Zhang Kun hurriedly asked, but suddenly, accompanied by a sticky footstep, his hair stood on end, and a strong sense of threat swept over his entire body.

In the cold winter, beneath his thick bearskin coat, Zhang Kun's back was instantly soaked with cold sweat. His body stiffened, and he dared not even breathe, only able to hear the clear sound of bones grinding together as he twisted his neck backward.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a terrifying shadow. In the dim moonlight, it was a tall, bloated figure with a severely swollen and festering body, its skin a dark reddish-black.

A layer of viscous, semi-solidified, slowly flowing dark brown blood writhed on its surface like a living thing.

A strong, pungent stench of rust and decay almost made Zhang Kun sneeze. A chilling, eerie roar emanated from the shadow's throat.

Possessed by the dog spirit, Zhang Biao and the terrifying shadow faced off like two wild beasts, separated by the ripped-up carriage.

Zhang Kun and Fang Zheng, sandwiched in the middle, trembled like small animals that had wandered into the territory of two wild beasts.

"A blood corpse?"

"Blood corpse!"

For a moment, Zhang Kun's mind went blank with fear, and he suddenly remembered a story his grandfather had told him.

Grandpa said that the Zhang family has been shamans for generations, and among the evil spirits they have dealt with, the blood corpse is one of the most powerful.

Only when someone suffers extreme injustice and torture, or commits suicide with overwhelming resentment, and their body is abandoned or buried in extremely yin and evil feng shui places such as "corpse-nurturing grounds," "blood-evil caves," and "mass graves," can the resentment not dissipate but be nourished and distorted by the evil energy of the earth's veins, thus giving birth to a ferocious creature like a blood corpse.

Zhang Kun recalled that his grandfather once described this thing as running like the wind, as strong as a dragon, and said to be able to catch and eat dragons in the river.

Zhang Kun was still young then. He only remembered his grandfather's pained expression as he gulped down wine, muttering, "Biaozi... how could you die at the hands of such a bastard... how is Xiao Kun supposed to live now..."

From his earliest childhood memories, Zhang Kun only remembered that his grandfather often drank himself into a stupor.

But when he grew a little older, he learned from his sister that although his grandfather used to drink, he only had a few drinks.

My grandfather started drinking more and more after my father died from blood poisoning, and eventually developed liver cancer.

Moreover, Zhang Biao was indeed his father's name. The same name, the same face, and this blood corpse... there were too many coincidences. Zhang Kun had begun to believe that the man named Zhang Biao standing next to him was indeed his father, who had died more than ten years ago.

"But! How can a person travel through time?" Zhang Kun wondered, the atmosphere growing increasingly tense, as the blood corpse seemed poised to pounce at any moment.

"Roar..." The beast-like threatening growl had stopped, and the blood corpse's posture had changed. Zhang Kun's pupils contracted, and a tremendous sense of threat surged into his brain.

His mind went blank, and he instinctively opened his mouth, wanting to recite the incantation etched into his bones. But it was too late!

boom!
With a loud bang, the blood corpse, in a grotesque and deformed posture, its viscous, foul blood transforming into writhing tentacles, lashed at the cold, hard earth. Its entire body charged forward like a cannonball.

In that split second, when Zhang Kun had no time to dodge, a large hand slapped him hard, sending him flying into the carriage with a loud crash.

Possessed by the dog spirit, Zhang Biao kept barking through his teeth, his wounds kept bursting open, and more black fur gushed out, completely sealing the wounds.

In a few instants, he transformed into a large, humanoid dog with black fur and a protruding snout, and collided violently with the blood corpse.

(End of this chapter)