The Decaying Dream of America: I Assemble Corpses and Confront Madness

Mia and Cross walked further and further away, their footsteps fading into the damp stone corridor, leaving long echoes, as if even the air itself sighed at their departure. Night spread deep within the Percy Fortress, dim light casting flickering shadows on the mottled walls, shrouding everything in an eerie veil. Only barely audible whispers and faint, distant exotic melodies remained in the air—a scent mingled with ancient spices and decaying earth, carrying a primal and heavy power that sent chills down one's spine.

Lin Zheng felt a fine sweat seep from his palms as he gripped the Samantha Jones pebble tightly. The geometric patterns on the pebble's surface emitted a faint, eerie light in his palm; it wasn't real visible light, but rather a kind of spiritual glow, echoing the ancient and heavy pulse within Percy's body. Each beat felt like a direct strike to Lin Zheng's nerves, reverberating deep within his consciousness, bringing an indescribable sense of oppression. The "Dream Anatomy" power within him seemed to be awakened by the pebble's aura, a dull ache deep within his blood vessels foreshadowing impending danger.

Evelyn gently stroked her neck, feeling the unnatural throbbing of the veins on the side of her neck. It wasn't just a heartbeat quickened by fear, but a resonance from the depths of this fortress, from some invisible pressure, as if she were shrouded in an invisible net. Her fingertips could feel the blood surging beneath her skin, seemingly warning her that the road ahead was full of unknowns and dangers. She knew that this throbbing was somehow connected to the indescribable change within Percy's body, like two strings being plucked simultaneously, producing a trembling echo.

Her gaze drifted into the depths of the corridor, where dappled shadows were cast by the iron railings. The flickering kerosene lamps outlined the rough stone carvings on the walls into bizarre and distorted shapes, as if ancient creatures slumbering within the stone were struggling to break free. An unsettling sense of oppression hung in the air, as if some unspeakable secret lay hidden in this darkness. A faint, hoarse chant drifted from there, like the whispers of creatures from the depths of the earth, piercing the thick stone walls and reaching the very depths of her soul.

The voice carried a primal call, like a spell or a lament, piercing the thick stone walls and lingering in their ears. Each syllable seemed to strip away their reason. The air was thick with the suffocating scent of some ancient spice, mingled with mold and blood, as if pulling them into a long-forgotten world filled with dark rituals and the aura of death. The plaintive whispers assaulted their eardrums, making them feel dizzy.

Lin Zheng recognized the voice as coming from the imprisoned Uma Zulu. Deep within the Parsi Fortress, she was isolated by layers of thick iron bars and cold stone walls, yet her voice seemed to penetrate flesh and steel, reaching their eardrums directly, carrying a primal power that could pierce through all barriers. This extraordinary phenomenon caused Lin Zheng's sanity to throb; he knew it meant he was stepping into a realm beyond mortal comprehension.

He knew the changing of the guard usually happened late at night, and this was their only, and most dangerous, opportunity. A single misstep could lead to their discovery and them becoming victims of this ancient fortress. Time seemed to stand still; a tense and oppressive atmosphere hung in the air, making even breathing a cautious affair. However, to uncover the truth behind Parsi's illness, they had no other choice.

"We must make contact with her," Lin Zheng said in a low voice, his voice swallowed by the strange environment, yet unwavering. He gripped the pebble tightly, as if it were the only anchor he could hold onto, preventing himself from being completely swept away by this mysterious force. His eyes gleamed with determination in the dim light; even in the face of the unknown, he had to forge ahead.

Evelyn nodded, her face pale and grave. She slung her tool bag back over her shoulder, the weight a constant reminder of her duty as a healer, even though what she faced far exceeded the scope of her medical knowledge. The scalpel in her hand had long since lost its cold gleam; now, it was no longer a doctor's tool, but a faint solace in despair, like the crumbling scientific faith deep within her heart, her last stand.

The two moved stealthily down the corridor, each step deliberate and careful, the slightest sound of their shoes scraping against the stone slabs deliberately suppressed, lest they disturb any unknown eyes lurking in the shadows. The air in the corridor grew increasingly damp, as if an invisible slime clung to their skin, making them uneasy. Their footsteps were masked by the chanting coming from the depths of the corridor, blending into this eerie symphony. They were like two fish diving into the deep sea, each movement filled with caution and danger.

As they approached the source of the sound, the damp air grew even thicker, making it hard to breathe. The stench of mold, blood, and that indescribable spice mingled, creating a nauseating, bizarre atmosphere—a mixture of decay and growth. Each breath felt like devouring the decay and secrets of this ancient fortress. Their hearts pounded in their chests, as if they might leap from their throats at any moment.

In the shadows behind the iron fence, a small, thin figure was bound to a stone pillar. Her limbs were tightly bound with rough hemp rope, her skin dark and covered with wrinkles of varying depths, like dried tree bark, bearing the marks of time and endless suffering. Her hair was braided into intricate plaits, entwined with dried bones and feathers, exuding an ancient and mysterious aura. Her eyes were deep, shrouded in darkness and despair, yet revealing a trace of indomitable resilience. This was the tribal shaman—Uma Zulu.

That was Uma Zulu. Her body trembled intermittently, as if struggling against some unseen force, her lips uttering low, continuous chants, each syllable carrying the primal essence of the earth. It wasn't simple language, but more like the sound of an ancient ritual resonating with the land, communicating with the great beings deep within nature. The sound spread like invisible ripples in the damp air, piercing their eardrums and reaching their very hearts.

Lin Zheng could see the necklace around Uma's neck, made of bones and dried herbs. In the dim light, it gleamed with a primal and eerie glow, as if each bone had absorbed the essence of ancient times, concealing untold secrets. The necklace trembled slightly with Uma's body, emitting a faint clinking sound, like a death knell striking their hearts.

Uma Zulu's gaze met Lin Zheng's in the darkness. In that single glance, Lin Zheng felt as if his deepest secrets had been instantly revealed, leaving him utterly exposed. His soul, mutated by "Dream Anatomy," was laid bare before the shaman's eyes; all his struggles and pain were seen through by those ancient eyes. Her gaze seemed to directly touch the buried, unknown corners of Lin Zheng's consciousness, filling him with a naked, inescapable fear.

She stopped singing, a flicker of surprise crossing her eyes, followed by pain. She saw into Lin Zheng's heart as if she were looking into a corroded lake, yet deep within that lake, a stubborn glimmer of light pulsed, struggling, refusing to be extinguished. She stretched out her withered fingers, as if wanting to touch something, but was hindered by an unseen force. Her lips moved, as if she wanted to say something, but in the end, it turned into a heavy sigh.

Uma Zulu trembled as she dipped her withered fingers into the blood and ashes on the cell floor—remnants of some unknown ritual. On the filthy ground, she swiftly traced a twisted, ancient rune with the blood and ashes. The rune's strokes were exotic, yet carried a terrifying familiarity. The strokes were obscure and difficult to decipher, yet brimming with a strange vitality. It seemed to come alive, emitting a faint light similar to the runes within Percy's body. This light didn't illuminate the darkness, but rather distorted the surrounding light, creating even deeper shadows.

"Ancient blood... sacrificial grounds... slumbering ones... the source..." Uma Zulu whispered in his parched throat, his voice hoarse, almost swallowed by the echo of the fortress. These words weren't conveyed in normal language; rather, they acted directly on Lin Zheng's mind. Each word was like a cold, sharp cone, piercing into Lin Zheng's already exhausted spirit, roaring in his mind. His sanity was being rapidly depleted, bringing waves of dizziness and excruciating pain. His vision blurred for a moment; had it not been for his powerful willpower, he would likely have collapsed long ago.

He felt the runes, like invisible marks, deeply imprinted on his soul, creating a terrifying and dangerous resonance between him and the ancient whispers. This resonance wasn't understanding; it was more like being swept away by some ancient torrent, almost tearing his consciousness apart. He felt as if he were on a bloody altar, his ears filled with the wails of countless dead and the whispers of ancient gods, writhing in agony.

Just then, heavy footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor, growing louder as the patrolling guards returned—Brutus's team. Their torches flickered in the darkness, casting enormous, distorted shadows on the walls, like demons emerging from the depths of hell. The scraping of iron boots against the stone slabs was particularly jarring in the silent corridor, like the footsteps of death, drawing ever closer.

Uma Zulu's body tensed instantly. She swiftly withdrew her fingers, and almost simultaneously with Brutus's appearance, she wiped the runes off the ground with her toe. Her eyes held only the numbness and despair of imprisonment, as if everything that had just happened was merely Lin Zheng's illusion, or his mental breakdown due to the depletion of his sanity. She lowered her head again, reverting to her previous aged and submissive posture, though a trace of barely perceptible pain and resentment still lingered deep within her eyes.

Brutus Grubb's tall figure appeared before the iron fence. His face, covered in old scars, was expressionless, as cold as stone. He simply gestured rudely for Uma Zulu to follow him, his tone devoid of any human emotion, as if she were merely an object to be disposed of. Two guards stepped forward and untied Uma's restraints, their movements rough and merciless.

Before being taken away, Uma Zulu exchanged one last glance with Lin Zheng. Her eyes were filled with warning, and a plea for help that only Lin Zheng could understand—a pleas for an unknown fate, more like a trust, entrusting him with a heavy secret. Her figure was roughly taken away by the guards, disappearing around the corner of the corridor, leaving Lin Zheng and Evelyn standing there, their hearts churning with immense turmoil.

The corridor fell silent once more, leaving only the lingering scent of ancient spices and the booming murmurs in Lin Zheng's mind. The obscure patterns and fragments of shamanic whispers, like sharp pebbles, relentlessly pounded at the depths of his consciousness, plunging him and Evelyn into a deeper fog and ever closer danger. They knew that this encounter had not brought answers, but rather pushed them into an even deeper, unfathomable vortex.

Lin Zheng felt the heat of Samantha Jones's pebble in his palm; the faint light seemed to urge him to decipher the meaning of the runes and understand the shaman's warning. The patterns on the pebble's surface seemed to come alive, dancing in his palm, echoing the remaining fragments of runes in his mind, forming a dangerous energy loop that constantly drained his sanity.

He knew that the "ancient blood" Uma Zulu spoke of was not merely the cursed bloodline of the Parsi family, but more likely the bloodline of this land itself, tainted by some forbidden power—a primal life force deep beneath the earth, transcending human civilization. This realization sent chills down his spine; he seemed to see a broader, more terrifying vision.

The terms "sacrificial ground" and "sleeper" hint at a deeper secret, closely connected to this land and the sleeping ancient rulers. It's a power beyond human comprehension and control, an ancient being that transcends all. Lin Zheng's thoughts began to race; countless bloody and bizarre visions flooded his mind, sending waves of nausea and dizziness through him. He knew he was teetering on the brink of sanity collapse.

Evelyn's breathing quickened. She forced herself to calm down, but the shock within her was overwhelming. As a meticulous doctor, she had devoted her life to science, relying on tangible evidence. However, the appearance of Uma Zulu, the ancient chants, and Lin Zheng's almost prophetic intuition completely shattered her worldview. She had never imagined that the end of medicine would be such a bizarre and primitive "illness," beyond all her comprehension.

The candlelight flickered in the consultation room, and the bloodstained shadows on the walls distorted with the light, like countless souls struggling in agony. The air still carried the lingering scent of exotic spices, mingled with the musty smell of the fortress, creating a suffocating atmosphere. Lin Zheng's forehead was covered in cold sweat. He tried desperately to understand the vague and dangerous words uttered by the shaman. Those words collided and exploded in his consciousness, each echo taking away a piece of his sanity.

He pulled out his sketchbook, trying to draw the runes Uma Zulu had sketched on the ground from memory. But every time his pen touched the paper, the runes seemed to come alive, twisting and transforming in his mind into an indescribable chaos. His hand began to tremble, the pen drawing messy lines on the paper, but he could never recreate the complete form of the runes, leaving only fragmented symbols that gave him a splitting headache.

Evelyn stared intently at the lingering scent of spices in the air, trying to decipher the incomprehensible patterns and shamanic whispers with her rigorous scientific logic. She tried to recall all her knowledge of herbalism and ethnography, but it was all in vain. The molecular structures of the spices lost their meaning in her eyes; all she could feel was the primal and powerful mystical force they contained.

She knew she had reached the end of the medical field. None of the symptoms, none of the pathology, could explain Uma Zulu's descriptions of the "ancient blood" and the "sleepers." Her once unwavering faith in science was crumbling, revealing a bottomless abyss of fear beneath. Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging deep into her palms, trying to use physical pain to combat the mental onslaught.

Everything around her seemed shrouded in an invisible force; the air became thick and heavy, making her feel as if each breath carried the weight of lead. Everything in the examination room, including herself, seemed to have become part of this ancient fortress, watched and controlled by the being slumbering deep within. She felt an unprecedented sense of insignificance and powerlessness, like an insect trapped in amber, forced to watch helplessly as the end times approached.

Lin Zheng, enduring the agonizing loss of reason, pieced together the fragments of the shaman's whispers. He closed his eyes, and the image of plant-like vines coiling around Percy's organs and blood vessels reappeared. Those vines emitted an eerie glow, slowly and steadily devouring Percy's life force. This time, he saw it more clearly: the energy runes flowing on the surface of those vines were strikingly similar to the runes drawn by Uma Zulu, as if they were different manifestations of the same ancient power.

Evelyn gripped the rudimentary examination report tightly, her fingertips turning white from the pressure. The paper, in her hands, was like waste paper, utterly meaningless. None of the data and diagnoses recorded on it could explain what she was seeing. Her breathing quickened, her heart pounded violently, as if it would burst from her chest. Her eyes were filled with pain and despair, but even more so with an almost obsessive thirst for knowledge, a yearning to break through this mysterious barrier.

She finally understood that Percy's illness was not a simple human disease, not one that could be cured by modern medicine. Rather, it was some ancient and terrifying "erosion" or "symbiosis," originating from a taboo deep within this land, a being older than human civilization, more primitive than any known life form. This realization sent a chill down her spine, but it also ignited a glimmer of hope, because at least she had found direction.

Lin Zheng said in a low voice, "This isn't an illness, Evelyn, it's... parasitism. And it's parasitism that started a long time ago." His voice trembled slightly, but it was unusually firm. He finally pieced all the fragments together, and all the doubts were answered at this moment, although the answer was far more terrifying than any known disease.

Pain and despair flashed in Evelyn's eyes as she looked at Lin Zheng. Her medical knowledge and beliefs crumbled and vanished in that moment. Her worldview was completely overturned; all the scientific rationality she had once been proud of seemed so fragile and laughable in the face of supernatural truth. But atop this collapsed ruin, new and even more insane ideas began to sprout.

Her gaze met Lin Zheng's in the darkness, like two bolts of lightning piercing the night. A bold and insane idea rose in both of their minds simultaneously, like the whisper of a devil, tempting them towards the abyss. The idea was so dangerous, yet so alluring, because it might be the only way out.

"Rather than waiting for death," Evelyn said hoarsely, her voice filled with unprecedented resolve, as if she were betting everything on this sentence, "we should turn Percy's 'illness' itself into our bargaining chip for survival." Her eyes shone brightly in the candlelight, a madness that had struggled out of despair, a release that was a complete abandonment of all constraints.

Lin Zheng gently touched Samantha Jones's pebble. The faint light emanating from the pebble seemed to grow even stronger, as if responding to Evelyn's words, or affirming this mad decision. His hands stopped trembling, his heartbeat returned to steady, and an unprecedented resolve rose from the depths of his heart. He knew there was no turning back.

They needed to abandon all common sense and step completely into an unprecedented unknown territory, a realm filled with both terror and opportunity. This adventure had far exceeded their expectations; it was no longer simply about healing and saving lives, but a battle against ancient evil. They placed themselves at the center of a vortex of supernatural forces, actively seeking contact with that forbidden entity.

This is not merely a diagnosis of an illness; it is more like an analysis of the truth of the world, a self-redemption by confronting the terrifying existence deep within the universe. They must understand this "illness," even master it, in order to find a glimmer of hope in this blood-soaked wasteland. This is a high-stakes gamble, risking their lives, with their fate and that of everyone else at stake.

The cost of this dissection is unpredictable. It may bring unprecedented power, or it may tear them apart, turning them into playthings of that ancient being. But at this moment, they have no other choice but to take this path. They stand on the edge of the abyss, and only by taking one step forward can they glimpse the secrets of the abyss's depths and search for that faint glimmer of life.

Deep within the clinic, the blood-ash runes left by Uma Zulu, though erased, seemed to come alive in the flickering candlelight. Like a cursed window, they allowed Lin Zheng and Evelyn to glimpse the ancient and forbidden power surging beneath this land. That power seemed to possess life, stirring restlessly underground, waiting to be awakened.

Their path to survival was no longer simply about healing; it was about becoming "guides" in Percy's flesh-and-blood ritual. They would play a dangerous yet crucial role, channeling that power in search of a glimmer of hope. This decision was like lighting a flickering candle in the darkness—weak, yet enough to illuminate the way forward.

However, who can know whether their attempt to control this power will backfire, plunging them into an abyss of no return? Will they become new sacrifices, or puppets manipulated by the power? These are all unknowns. Whether this "diagnosis" will please Percy, and whether it will truly grant them a chance to live, remains to be seen. The future is shrouded in mist, but they are determined to fight against fate with their own will until the very last moment.