Forgotten Photo Studio

Chapter 100 Initial Form

The lights in the iron coffin area suddenly went out in the same second.

Darkness is not simply the absence of light; it is more like a substantial entity, pressing heavily on every retina.

Immediately afterwards, a profound stillness descended.

It's not that there's no sound, but rather that all sounds, including the subtle noises of heartbeat, breathing, and blood flow, are forcibly "silenced" by some higher-priority rule, as if the world is being forcibly restarted.

Xu Yan's consciousness was almost frozen inside the drill arm's shell.

coming.

He knew better than anyone what this deathly prelude meant.

He "looked" at his own body, which was casually placed on a stretcher. He was still unconscious, his face as pale as a discarded piece of paper. Only the old-fashioned camera on his chest was radiating a chilling "presence".

That is the lair of "Abyss," and at this moment, the lair's door is opening.

Just then, the lens of the old-fashioned camera was no longer glass, but turned into a viscous, stagnant pool of darkness.

A thin, almost invisible crack, seemingly formed from nothingness itself, struggled to open from the dark center of the pool.

The "light" it emits has no color temperature, making it more like a "visual paradox".

Wherever it reaches, the air stops flowing and is instead drawn in the opposite direction, forming tiny vortices that sink into the crack;
The sounds and smells no longer dissipated, but rather seemed to be pulled back to the source of that beam of light by invisible threads.

The cooling pipes emitted a metallic groan as if twisted by immense force.

"Energy reading...F-level ghost fluctuation?!"

The guard closest to the camera looked at the data on his handheld detector, gasped in surprise, and even relaxed his tense shoulders for a moment.

Level F: Lowest level of abnormal threat.

Another guard next to him even subconsciously took half a step forward, as if trying to get a better view.

The shadowy figure trembled violently in the corner, remaining silent but raising its guard to its highest level.

The lamplight clearly came to the same conclusion.

His usual timidity was replaced by a professional, even slightly contemptuous, calmness.

“It’s just a trick for observing phases,” he said hoarsely, instinctively protecting the oil lamp in his arms. “The intensity is too low to constitute a real phenomenon…”

His words stopped abruptly.

That beam of "nothingness" light seemed to understand his contempt, and slightly deflected at an insignificant angle, like a venomous snake with absolute precision, "licking" across his chest.

There was no penetrating wound and no bloodstains.

But the movement of the lamplight and shadows froze.

He looked down in disbelief and saw his chest turning transparent.

The physical sense of his skin, muscles, and bones was rapidly disappearing, as if his entire being was being forcibly pressed into an infinitely thin, overexposed film.

His skin was like old wallpaper being torn apart by an invisible hand, peeling off piece by piece.

What is exposed beneath is not flesh and blood, but countless complex textures flowing endlessly, composed of pure light.

That was the spiritual energy he had accumulated throughout his life of exorcising ghosts; all his fears, obsessions, and memories were now being violently and nakedly revealed.

"He...he was being..." The Iron-Faced Woman's voice trembled uncontrollably, "...recorded!"

"Retreat! Everyone, activate the full psionic isolation field!"

The judge's stern shout was like a thunderclap, instantly shattering the eerie silence.

His golden vertical pupils had already lit up, and he leaned forward slightly, assuming a posture that combined defense and offense. He did not attack rashly, but the spiritual pressure emanating from his body made the air feel viscous.

What he saw was far more than just an F-level threat.

Xu Yan felt a chill run through the neural interfaces of the prosthetic body inside the drill arm.

He watched helplessly as the shadowy figure, though timid, was easily "erased" like a useless piece of data.

Is this what feeds on his memories?

Is this the "Abyss" lurking deep within his soul?
A mixture of fear, nausea, and a strange sense of "closeness" made him almost vomit.

He stared intently at that beam of light, trying to understand the root of his life's destiny.

This is not killing, this is archiving.

In this irresistible process of recording, the "body" of the lamplight, like a vessel unable to withstand the torrent of information, began to fall apart.

It wasn't a physical explosion, but rather like a memory card filled to its limit, its logic collapsing instantly, fragmenting into the most basic particles of light, which were greedily absorbed by the crack.

"Uh……"

The guard who had been about to step forward let out a short scream and scrambled backward, crashing into the cold wall.

The shadow of the lamplight faded even further, almost completely merging with the shadow itself—a natural reaction when faced with an extreme threat.

However, strangely enough, the broken oil lamp in his arms suddenly popped up in mid-air the instant he was completely extinguished, and the green flame on it burst into flames abnormally!

Within the heart of the flame, light and shadow flashed back and forth rapidly, like a projector that had gone out of control:

His profile as he cautiously patrols the dark, sealed area with a lantern;

He lit a stick of incense in the empty corridor to appease the souls of the dead, and the smoke curled upwards.

He even subconsciously glanced back at an ordinary iron gate during one mission...

Countless forgotten, insignificant "moments" in his life are now forcibly extracted and developed, and then, like rivers flowing into the sea, are ruthlessly seized by the crack originating from the camera lens and incorporated into his unfathomable memory.

Before the horrifying vision of fading memories, the judge's figure stood as still as a mountain.

The gloom on his face had not faded, but in his vertical pupils, which were like molten gold, besides absolute vigilance, a fleeting and extremely deep regret flashed.

The lamplight had been with him for many years, and he knew this man's cowardice and perseverance.

The demise at this moment is not a loss of combat personnel, but a desecration of "existence" itself.

“Record casualties.”

His voice remained cold and emotionless, but the shadow closest to him keenly sensed a subtle, almost imperceptible tremor of compassion within the thick spiritual pressure around him.

He was not heartless; he simply placed the weight of "order" and "survival" above individual emotions.

This weight is sometimes more cruel than coldness.

When the last ray of light from the lamp disappeared into the crack, not even the concept of 'death' remained.

The judge's face was so dark it could drip water. He stared intently at the exploding green flames and the shimmering fragments of memory behind them, squeezing out a few words through gritted teeth: "...The Shadow of Devouring Existence."

This is the initial form that "Abyss" manifests at this moment:
Class F Ghost - Observation Phase

It feeds on images, devouring every moment that is seen.

Its essence is that slowly expanding "nothingness" rift, a thirsty, nascent information singularity.

This was only the beginning of Yuan breaking free from its seal.

(End of this chapter)