Having traversed countless realms, can you possibly be as clever as me?

Those children he pressed onto the bed, onto the floor, or wherever he wanted.

The children who cried and begged him to stop, the children he told "Don't be afraid, it will be over soon," and the children he forgot.

They're chasing him now.

No—no—no—

He tried to scream in despair, but what came out was a string of pig squeals. Sharp, piercing, like a tire that had been run over by a truck and was leaking air.

His leg was tripped by something—his own kind? Another wild beast fleeing? He fell heavily onto the beach, his face buried in the scorching sand, his nostrils filled with burning particles.

He tried to get up, but his legs wouldn't obey him.

It wasn't because of the injury, but because of fear. Fear was like a pool of solidified cement, starting from his heart, filling his blood vessels, muscles, and every bone, freezing him in place, unable to move.

He could only lie there, burying his face in the sand, pretending he didn't exist, hoping that the child chasing him wouldn't see him in the darkness.

The footsteps behind me grew closer and closer. The children's footsteps were light and slow, making almost no sound as they stepped on the sand.

But he could hear it, he could hear every sound, because it was death approaching.

A tiny hand grabbed his hind leg.

"what--!!!"

He issued a

350 >>

—There was only fear, no repentance. Because he knew that repentance would be of no use whatsoever.

"We can give you anything in this world—wealth, power, status, an entire country—if you just spare us—"

"Shh." Tsurugi interrupted his monologue, pointing to a spot not far away and laughing.

"Since you are already here, you should understand that you are beyond redemption. In this sinful place, you can only accept the suffering brewed by your sins."

A group of children, large and small, appeared in the direction he pointed, standing silently at the edge of the beach, watching them. Someone recognized one of the children; a wealthy woman, her face ashen, collapsed to the ground screaming.

The girl was eight years old when she was brought up, and she still looks eight years old now, forever eight years old.

A shattered body, a torn and broken shell, a sight so horrifying that it wouldn't even appear in a horror movie.

One by one, these violated, mutilated, and devoured children crawled out and stared straight at the adults.

That empty gaze was more terrifying than any threat; fear instantly shattered the minds of these already fragile people!

They screamed and tried to escape, and as they ran wildly across the beach, things quickly changed!

The president's body began to contort. Coarse, stiff hair grew on his skin, his back bent, his fingers turned into claws, and his mouth protruded forward, transforming him into an old, ugly dog.

He knelt on the ground, trying to make a human voice, but could only let out hoarse howls that no one could understand.

“I was president—I have achievements—I've done so much for the country—you can't treat me like this—”

The financial tycoon transformed into a wild boar. He was on all fours, trembling, excrement and urine flowing freely. He gazed up at the thrush in the sky with human eyes, and shouted in a human voice:

“I didn’t do anything—someone else did it—I only came a few times—I didn’t touch the children—I just—I just—”

The Hollywood producer turned into a vulture. He struggled to fly away, but couldn't take off; he could only flutter on the sand, emitting sharp cries.

"I have money—I'll give you money—as much as you want—I can even make movies for you—movies about you—making you a god known throughout the world—"

The arms dealer's heir had turned into a hyena. He let out a mournful howl that sounded like laughter.

"This isn't fair—this isn't fair—you can't treat me like this—I just inherited the family business—those things were done by my father—not me—not me—"

The ruler of that energy empire had turned into a rat. He frantically burrowed into the sand, making tiny, shrill noises as he did so.

"Don't find me—you can't see me—I didn't do anything—I just came to the party—I don't know—I really don't know—"

One by one, hundreds of thousands of people, all turned into beasts, all kinds of ugly, ferocious, and disgusting beasts.

But their eyes are still human eyes, their consciousness is still human consciousness; they know they are human, they know what they have become, and they know why they have become this way.

Tsurugi hovered in the air, quietly watching all this, a happy smile appearing on her face, then she opened her arms—

Snapped!

In the instant their hands clasped together, the children were given the bodies and weapons of hunters by Tsurugi. Their lifeless eyes quickly came to life, replaced by intense excitement and hunger!

"Are you ready, kids!" Tsugumi cheered, raising her hand.

"Ready, Captain!" the children cheered happily.

"I can't hear you!"

"Ready, Captain!!!"

"Oh~~~~~~!" Tsurugi waved her arms happily, pointing at the running animals, and looked at them with a joyful expression.

"Then go hunting, children! Catch these animals, castrate their organs, tear their limbs, cut off their heads, skin them, rip out their entrails, cover them with salt, and roast them over a fire!"

"Turn them into your prey, your food, and enjoy them to your heart's content!!!"

Dongjiang cheered, and the hungry children, frolicking with joy, grabbed their weapons and charged out.

Bow and arrow, stones, machete, chainsaw, pistol

The children, armed with all sorts of hunting tools, began their hunt, targeting the beasts that the great figures had transformed into.

They will be captured in terror, torn apart, their bodies severed in agony, their skin peeled off, their internal organs dug out, and their flesh cut off.

Then, their flesh and blood are skewered and grilled one by one, finally sprinkled with spices, and then put into their mouths to chew and swallow.

Just as they once did for the children on this island.

However, the tolerant Uncle Tsurugi gave them even better treatment.

They will experience all the pain and the process, from hunting to cooking, and then being eaten and digested into a pile of excrement.

This extreme pain permeates every single cell.

Enjoy it!

On the road to godhood, there must be killing, killing, killing! :247 [Daily End] Annihilate evil and rule the world

He never imagined he would understand the meaning of the word "prey" in this way.

Not when chasing a captive deer on a golf course, not when aiming a shotgun at an elephant on the African savanna, not when watching those supposedly "extremely challenging" wild beasts released into private game fields.

It is now, when he has transformed into a wild boar, running wildly on all fours across the scorching sand.

His name is Richard Hunter III, and this is his first real run.

It wasn't a slow jog on a treadmill with a pre-set speed, nor was it a morning run with a personal trainer. It was the first time I had to run because I was being chased by someone.

His heart pounded in his chest, each breath like swallowing a handful of shards of glass. His four legs—once two, now four, ugly, short, bristly pig legs—dug frantically in the sand, but the sand was too soft, and he sank in with every step, and with each sinking, the children were a little closer to him.

Those children, those children he brought here.

Those children he pressed onto the bed, onto the floor, or wherever he wanted.

The children who cried and begged him to stop, the children he told "Don't be afraid, it will be over soon," and the children he forgot.

They're chasing him now.

No—no—no—

He tried to scream in despair, but what came out was a string of pig squeals. Sharp, piercing, like a tire that had been run over by a truck and was leaking air.

His leg was tripped by something—his own kind? Another wild beast fleeing? He fell heavily onto the beach, his face buried in the scorching sand, his nostrils filled with burning particles.

He tried to get up, but his legs wouldn't obey him.

It wasn't because of the injury, but because of fear. Fear was like a pool of solidified cement, starting from his heart, filling his blood vessels, muscles, and every bone, freezing him in place, unable to move.

He could only lie there, burying his face in the sand, pretending he didn't exist, hoping that the child chasing him wouldn't see him in the darkness.

The footsteps behind me grew closer and closer. The children's footsteps were light and slow, making almost no sound as they stepped on the sand.

But he could hear it, he could hear every sound, because it was death approaching.

A tiny hand grabbed his hind leg.

"what--!!!"

He issued a

351

He screamed, his four legs flailing wildly, trying to break free. He succeeded; the little hand loosened its grip for a moment—he got up and kept running, tumbling and crawling, running without looking at anything.

He ran into the jungle, vines whipping his face, burning with pain. Thorns tore at his skin, leaving long, bloody welts. Tree roots tripped him, he got up, tripped again, and got up again.

He didn't know where he was running, he didn't know if there was an exit, he just knew he was running.

Run, run, run, run!

He ran until he couldn't run anymore and collapsed under a palm tree, gasping for breath. A sweet, metallic liquid welled up in his mouth—was it blood? His lungs were burning, his heart was about to explode, and his four legs were as limp as noodles on the ground. He couldn't move, he really couldn't move.

He leaned against the tree trunk and finally had time to look back.

Nobody's around, no children. He's safe? He's safe!

He is safe.

A hand reached out from behind him and gently rested on his mane. His heart stopped for half a second, and then he heard a voice, small, soft, sweet, the kind of voice that had given him fantasies when he was human.

"Got you."

He turned around, and a girl stood behind him. She was about seven or eight years old, wearing a white dress, barefoot, and her hair shimmered faintly in the moonlight.

Her face was expressionless, her eyes were lifeless—the face he could never forget in his countless erotic dreams.

He knew her, how could he not? She was his favorite. Eight years old, black hair, brown eyes, and when she cried, her voice was very soft, like a kitten's meow. He named her "Little Kitty."

Her name is Kitty... no, her name isn't Kitty. What's her name again?

He couldn't remember. He only remembered that after that night, she stopped crying. She didn't cry or speak; she just lay there, staring at the ceiling with those eyes.

And then what? What happened next?

He doesn't remember, or he doesn't want to remember, because what he's about to face is the same as what he's done before.

Those eyes were looking at him, just like before, without light.

"you--"