Desperate people, accept the seed of my soul!

too fast.

The monitor thought the equipment had malfunctioned.

"Report! All contact has been lost outside the perimeter! Everyone's vital signs are abnormal!"

The monitor's voice boomed through the encrypted channel.

The commander in the middle layer had just grabbed the walkie-talkie and shouted, "Everyone to combat positions!" when his fingers froze.

He looked down at the back of his hand.

Something was wriggling under his skin, like a thin worm slowly crawling in his blood vessels.

His blood began to flow backward.

"He's here."

He used his last bit of strength to say those two words, then his knees buckled and he knelt on the ground.

The walkie-talkie rolled out of his hand and bounced twice on the ground.

A piercing static noise came through the headphones, followed by a series of muffled groans.

One by one.

It was as if someone walked past a row of candles and blew out all the flames in one breath.

Within a minute, all one hundred people in the middle layer collapsed.

The two half-dead pomegranate trees in the yard began to bleed.

Dark red liquid seeped from the cracks in the bark, flowing down the trunk and pooling at the roots into a small, spreading pool of blood.

That's not the tree bleeding.

The blood-based energy in the air was so concentrated that it fell like rain, landing on the leaves, branches, and bark, and flowing down the grain of the tree trunk.

On the first floor of the safe house, Zhao Yong dropped his beer can.

The aluminum can made a crisp sound as it hit the tiled floor, and beer gushed out of the can, leaving a large patch of white foam on the floor.

He was awakened by the alarm, jumped out of bed, rushed to the window, and pulled back the curtains.

Then he saw the most terrifying sight of his life.

The searchlights in the yard were still on, illuminating the entire yard clearly with their white light.

Six members of the Sharp Blade team were lying under the pomegranate tree.

Their bodies had no external injuries, but each person's skin had an eerie dark red hue, as if it had been soaked in blood from the inside out.

Their chests were heaving.

still alive.

But no one could stand up.

Further away, the infrared sensors on the wall were still flashing, but all the sentries on duty had fallen at their posts.

Zhao Yong saw a sentry lying face down on a machine gun mount, blood dripping from his ears, leaving dark red craters on the concrete floor.

"Jianjun! Jianjun, come and see!"

Zhao Yong's voice was trembling.

Sun Jianjun stood up from the sofa, walked to the window, glanced at it, and then stubbed out his cigarette.

His face was very pale, but his expression was surprisingly calm.

"They're here."

He only said two words.

"What to do? What to do?"

Zhao Yong paced back and forth in the room, his leather shoes making a harsh creaking sound on the tiles.

"So many people outside! Three hundred! They're all down! How could he have taken care of all three hundred so quickly! This isn't human! This is a monster! A monster!"

He rushed to the bedside and pulled a pistol from under the pillow, his hands trembling so much he could barely hold it.

"Let's run! Run through the back door! It's closer to the mountain, he can't catch us!"

"Why are you running?"

Sun Jianjun leaned against the wall, lit another cigarette, and took a deep drag.

"Do you think you can outrun them? Three hundred fully armed elite soldiers were wiped out before the alarm even went off. Do you think you can outrun them on foot?"

"Then what do you suggest we do! Just stay here and wait to die?"

Zhao Yong's voice had already cracked.

Sun Jianjun remained silent.

He exhaled a puff of smoke and looked out the window at the pomegranate tree in the courtyard.

The blood was still flowing down the tree, covering the entire root.

Do you remember three years ago?

Sun Jianjun suddenly spoke, his voice very soft.

"I was standing right next to Liu Lei when he was beating him. He was beaten for three hours, and I smoked three cigarettes while I was standing there."

He looked up and glanced at me.

"I still remember that look in my eyes."

Zhao Yong stared at him blankly.

"What kind of look is that? Begging for mercy?"

"It's not a plea for mercy."

Sun Jianjun flicked the cigarette ash onto the ground.

"It is hatred."

As soon as he finished speaking, the temperature in the room suddenly dropped.

Suddenly, an extremely strong smell of blood filled the air, so strong that Zhao Yong felt his nasal cavity was filled with viscous blood, and every breath felt like inhaling liquid blood.

Frost began to form on the windowpane.

Blood-red frost.

Dark red ice crystals began to spread from the edge of the glass, like countless tiny bloody hands climbing up the glass, making a soft creaking sound.

A wisp of scarlet mist seeped in from under the door.

They flowed slowly along the ground, as if they were alive, meandering across the tiled floor and leaving behind dark red wet streaks.

Zhao Yong raised his hand and fired a shot through the crack in the door.

The gunshots were deafening in the closed room; the bullets pierced the door and left a bullet hole in the wall of the corridor.

The blood mist remained undisturbed by the gunfire.

They continued to spread into the room, growing more numerous and denser, seeping in through every tiny crack in the doors, windows, vents, and walls, gathering into a knee-deep sea of ​​blood-red mist.

"The Song Dynasty!"

Zhao Yong roared at the door, his face flushed red, and veins bulging on his forehead.

"Come out here if you dare! Stop playing tricks! Come out!"

No one answered him.

But footsteps could be heard in the corridor.

It's very light.

It sounded like the soles of cloth shoes stepping on a cement floor.

step.

Two steps.

Getting closer.

The sound of each step landing was steady and smooth, without any rush, like a neighbor coming to visit.

The blood mist in the room rippled gently with the rhythm of the footsteps, creating concentric circles of dark red ripples.

Zhao Yong saw the ripples touch the surface of his leather shoes, and a thin layer of blood frost immediately formed on the surface.

He stumbled back two steps, his back slamming against the wall, the sights of his pistol swaying wildly towards the doorway.

The doorknob moved.

It turned slightly half a turn, making a very faint metallic scraping sound, and then the door was pushed open.

Song Chao stood at the door.

His blue overalls were completely soaked in blood, clinging wetly to his body, dripping dark red liquid. Each drop made a slight sizzling sound on the ground, like red-hot iron falling into water.

His face was so thin that his cheekbones protruded high, his eye sockets were deep-set, and his skin was so pale that it was almost bloodless. Only his eyes were surprisingly bright, and his dark red pupils emitted a faint light in the blood mist.

His hands hung at his sides, his fingers slightly spread, with five constantly rotating blood beads on his fingertips. Each blood bead was only the size of a soybean, slowly rotating in mid-air, gleaming with a cold red light.

Zhao Yong saw that face, his finger on the trigger, but he couldn't muster any strength.

His blood was flowing backward.

He could clearly feel his heart being gently squeezed by an invisible hand. It wasn't very strong, just a light squeeze, as if reminding him, "Your life is in my hands."