Mysterious Resurrection: Starting with Controlling Sadako

Chapter 317 Eternal Torture

Wang Liang stood in the cramped room, with a painting on the wall behind him.

However, the content of the painting has changed to a scene inside the post office, which is the perspective in the painting.

People outside can look at the painting, and the people in the painting can also look at the outside world.

Once inside the world of the oil painting, Wang Liang could already hear the man's painful screams and curses.

"Damn it, who are you?!"

The rough-looking man was nailed to the wall, his body covered in knife marks, on the verge of breaking, and he dared not move.

At this moment, he could only look at Wang Liang, who was walking over, in shock and anger, never expecting that he would be powerless to fight back against him.

The reason for this was simply because he, in the painting, glanced maliciously at this living person from the outside world.

Wang Liang did not reply. He went to the rough-looking man who had been nailed to the ground and reached out to grab one of the man's cracked arms with an inquisitive look.

He didn't use much force; he just gripped it lightly and disassembled the man's arm as easily as taking apart building blocks.

After the arm was removed, it seemed to have reached its limit, and it quickly broke into several pieces in Wang Liang's hands, all due to the effect of the curse attack on the Japanese samurai sword.

Wang Liang held this section of the arm as if it were a cold, rotten piece of wood, devoid of the touch and warmth that a living person, or even a ghost tamer, should possess.

No large amount of blood splattered from the cut; only some cold, sticky mud dripped onto the ground.

In addition, the other flesh and blood inside exhibited a strange state of congealing.

It looks like wood, or perhaps it's been painted; it lacks vitality and has an eerie, lifeless quality.

This is a drawing of a person.

Ignoring the man's curses, Wang Liang reached out and grabbed the rough man's face.

With a flick of his wrist, he ripped the man's head off his nearly shattered body.

The man didn't die, but at that moment, a chilling aura emanating from Wang Liang's palm invaded his head, causing the man's consciousness to blur and his eyes to roll back.

Since it was drawn by a supernatural being, Sadako's supernatural invasion of memories faced some resistance, but not much. It only caused slight interference, making the stolen memories somewhat blurry.

But Wang Liang still managed to steal most of the memories he wanted to know, and suddenly understood the world in the oil painting.

He also learned why the man harbored ill will towards him.

This person didn't come to attack him intentionally; he just happened to be in the world of the oil painting and wandered over to this painting that corresponded to the first floor of the post office.

Then I happened to see Wang Liang wandering around on the first floor, glancing at the oil paintings.

If the rough man wasn't here, and Wang Liang only saw the painting, then it wouldn't matter.

But the painting, especially the one in which he happened to be behind his own portrait, meant that Wang Liang had remembered it once he had glanced at it.

People drawn by the post office are hard to kill; in their view, only oblivion can destroy them.

Many of the people in the paintings no longer want to live; spending every day in the world of oil paintings is a form of torture.

This man, too, is simply waiting for the day he is completely forgotten.

So when Wang Liang saw him, he wanted to kill Wang Liang.

Unfortunately, before he could even make a move, he was instantly killed by Wang Liang after only glancing at him with malice.

After the memory theft was complete, the man, now only a head, blinked dazedly. Once he came to his senses, he immediately glared fiercely at Wang Liang again.

"You can't kill me, so come and torture me all you want. I guess I've lost this time!"

"You can't kill me? Why do you think that?" Wang Liang finally spoke with a cold laugh.

"It's just a person drawn by a supernatural force. The supernatural force sustains your existence, but it can also be suppressed and dissipated by a stronger supernatural force. You just haven't encountered it yet."

The rough-looking man was stunned for a moment, but the next second, his face showed surprise.

Because he saw that Wang Liang's other hand, which was gripping his severed arm, had red skin and emitted a strong smell of blood.

Strands of scarlet blood oozed from his fingertips, wriggling and seeping onto the man's severed arm.

Wang Liang gripped the severed arm tightly, his bloodied fingers digging into the wooden-like stump. The surface of the stump rippled like water, the dark brown, cracked skin seemingly assimilated, the flesh corroded into viscous blood.

Finally, the liquid, mixed with a dark brown color, like melted paint, flowed down Wang Liang's fingers and dripped onto the ground.

The rough-looking man stared wide-eyed as his severed arm, mixed with blood, completely lost its shape, flowing into the feet of the man before him and disappearing into the world of the oil painting.

Even if he breaks free of the restrictions, he can't put his arm back together; without it, how can he put it back together?

If an arm can melt away and disappear, then so can his!

But the rough man showed no fear; instead, he displayed a strange sense of joy and shouted excitedly:
"Kill me, kill me now!"

"Want to die?" Wang Liang looked at the head with a mocking expression.

"Yes! I can tell you anything you want to know, as long as you kill me like you just did."

"It's not that easy."

Wang Liang's face suddenly turned cold again, and he refused the man's request.

Killing a man is merely fulfilling his wish; there's no such thing as an easy way to attack him.

Wang Liang pulled out the blood-stained bone spear, carrying the man's head as he walked towards the dark door in the room.

The man cursed as he held Wang Liang's head in his hand, trying to provoke him.

Wang Liang reached out and forcefully ripped the man's chin off, threw it into the room, and carried the mute head through the black door.

A strange feeling arose in Wang Liang's mind as his vision blurred, as if he had stepped from one painting into another.

Wang Liang came out. It was dark outside, and the light was very weak, but he could still see things nearby.

A winding path leads forward, connecting to some place.

The grayness on both sides creates a sense of disorientation, as if the painting is poorly done, leaving one with no choice but to walk along this narrow path.

Behind Wang Liang was not a wooden house, but a lonely wall.

There is a door formed of darkness at the end of the path.

After coming out, Wang Liang didn't observe much and walked forward along the path as if he knew it well.

Soon, the path in front of him forked, one to the left and one to the right, with darkness stretching into the distance and no end in sight.

Wang Liang didn't stop; he turned left and continued walking forward.

Not long after, the eerie feeling returned, and he found himself in another painting.

This is a wheat field, presenting an eerie sense of abundance.

The wheat stalks were incredibly thick, with heavy ears of wheat drooping low, each grain plump and full.

The color, however, was an unusual, deathly pale white, densely packed together like countless empty eyes, distributed on both sides of the path, watching Wang Liang, who was holding his head.

The entire wheat field exuded an intense, almost unbearable earthy smell and a chilling atmosphere; it was a place of great misfortune.

The man's head in Wang Liang's hands showed a look of terror, but without a chin, he couldn't speak; his eyes could only twitch violently, expressing his resistance to the wheat field.

Wang Liang stopped right where he had just entered the area and threw the head he was holding away.

pat.

The man's head rolled into the wheat field and was obscured by the dense wheat stalks.

The frigid soil writhed eerily, slowly sinking the man's terrified head downwards.

Instead, a new stalk of wheat rose from the ground, swaying in the cold wind.

This is the most terrifying situation for the person in the painting: unable to be deprived of life, killed, or destroyed by the vengeful ghost.

But he was restricted by the vengeful ghost, and the supernatural struggle reached a stalemate. In the end, he could only become a part of the vengeful ghost and suffer torment here forever.

Forgetting them can no longer make them disappear, because they are 'retained' by another kind of supernatural force, and can only suffer torment indefinitely.

(End of this chapter)