America: The Cremator

Chapter 183 A Land of Death: Philland Sanatorium! [8.6K]

The rain finally stopped in Seattle the following night, and the air was filled with the fresh scent of earth.

Surong and Byron discussed the details of the operation over the phone, and the other party arranged to meet at a coffee shop at 8 p.m.

At 7:30 p.m., the Cadillac Escalade was parked on the side of the road near the agreed location.

Su Long opened the car door and looked around.

This is a suburb of Seattle, far from the hustle and bustle of the city center, surrounded by continuous fir forests, with only a two-lane asphalt road running through it.

The café is an old-fashioned, red-brick detached house with a handwritten wooden sign hanging at the entrance that reads "CaféDolce" in elegant cursive script.

"That guy actually managed to find a coffee shop in such a remote place," Su Long muttered to himself. "But the decor is surprisingly stylish."

He pushed open the heavy wooden door, and the brass bell on the door rang out with a clear, crisp sound.

The interior features dark wood floors, and the warm yellow light from the pendant lights softly illuminates the dark brown leather sofa and old wooden tables.

Several old maps of Seattle are pasted on the wall, and several photographs of fir forests hang next to them.

The only sound in the entire space was a gramophone in the corner playing soothing jazz music; the environment was very quiet, making it a perfect place for a private conversation.

Su Long chose a seat by the huge floor-to-ceiling window, and a waitress in an apron quickly came over.

"A large tub of iced Americano, please."

Outside the window was the edge of a large fir forest. The night was deep, and the silhouette of a huge Tudor-style building could be vaguely seen on the high ground hidden by the trees in the distance.

At exactly eight o'clock, to the second, accompanied by the ringing of a brass bell, the door of the coffee shop was pushed open again.

Byron, wearing a fitted trench coat, walked in.

He had meticulously styled short brown hair and wore frameless glasses on his nose.

After entering the store, Byron did not immediately go to Suron, but instead looked at the window behind the bar.

When Byron saw the thin bone china cups and saucers displayed in the window, he nodded, seemingly satisfied with the taste of the place.

He walked to the bar and elegantly ordered: "A flat white, please. Not too hot, and not too thick with milk foam."

After placing his order, he walked over to Su Long's seat, pulled out the chair opposite him, and sat down.

His gaze lingered for two seconds on the nearly empty bucket of iced Americano beside Su Long, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly.

"Do you Americans really like drinking this kind of bottled muddy water that much?"

Su Long shrugged and took a big gulp of his iced Americano.

"Sorry, I don't know how to enjoy life like you British people do." He casually tossed the empty glass aside. "In this shitty place like America, just surviving is a feat in itself."

As he spoke, Su Long put down the coffee bucket and leaned back on the sofa: "Besides, in a place where the menu only has fish and chips and stargazing, and the menu is thinner than an American history book, don't be so picky about taste."

Byron pursed his lips, a hint of amusement flashing in his eyes behind his glasses: "For a moment, I don't even know—which country are you belittling?"

A moment later, the waiter brought out Byron's flat white.

He reached out his fingers, gently pinched the delicate cup handle, and picked up the coffee.

First, lower your head and sniff the rim of the cup for a few seconds, then take a small sip, letting the coffee linger on your tongue for a moment to fully savor its aroma before slowly swallowing.

Byron nodded and gave his assessment: "The flat white is not bad, better than I expected—but compared to the Kensington shop, the milk here is too hot, which ruins the overall flavor of the coffee."

Surong, watching his tedious process, said impatiently, "So, you specifically chose to meet here just to hold a big evaluation of American and British coffee culture? Have you chosen your champion coffee yet?"

"Of course not." Byron turned his gaze to the window, raised his chin, and gestured towards the huge building in the distance: "See that? That's the False Raven's nest."

Su Long followed his gaze, and the building looked even more sinister in the night.

"What's the background of this place?"

"Fairland Sanatorium was established in 1911," Byron said, lowering his voice slightly, "to combat the tuberculosis epidemic that was sweeping across the United States at the time, also known as the White Plague."

"6

"Before antibiotics were invented, this was Seattle's largest tuberculosis isolation and treatment center. Over the decades, thousands of people died here. They died quietly and unknown to anyone, the vast majority of whom were the elderly and children with the weakest immune systems."

"So this place became a favorite of the false crows, a land of death," Byron added. "Later, your government tried to transform it into a church charity, but it was quickly abandoned due to the rampage of the false crows and various other strange occurrences."

Su Long nodded, indicating that he understood the cause and effect.

He sat up straight and asked, "When do we leave?"

"No rush," Byron waved his hand. "It's not time for the false crows to start making a move yet. We need to fill our stomachs first."

He looked at Su Long, his expression turning serious: "I suggest you eat more, even if you're not hungry right now. The Pseudo-Raven's ability will subject you to an extremely rapid aging process, and even if you recover afterward, your body will retain an extremely strong sense of hunger."

Byron paused, as if recalling some unpleasant experience.

"Last time, I fought the fake crow and aged forty years in ten minutes. After the curse on the domain was lifted, the two of us, including that A-rank exorcist from my family, ate a whole roasted cow."

Su Long imagined the scene, clicked his tongue in amazement, and shrugged: "If you're going to eat that much, I'm not going to pay the bill."

Byron smiled and said, "Of course, since I invited you to help, I'll naturally pay for this meal."

He raised his hand to call the waiter and began to order in standard London accent.

"A serving of smoked salmon with rye bread, crustless, crust removed, and cut into small pieces."

"A cucumber sandwich, with thinly sliced ​​cucumber and an extra layer of cheese on the bread."

"One plain scones, note, without raisins, I hate them. Served with whipped cream and strawberry jam. When plating, spread the cream first, then the strawberry jam."

"Finally, one more Victoria sponge cake, with the classic jam and cream filling."

As Surong listened to Byron's series of incredibly detailed, almost obsessive, order requests, he leaned back on the sofa and let out a long, helpless sigh.

He finally understood: Byron wasn't just pretentious or fussy; he genuinely had class.

Su Long couldn't help but speak up: "I'm telling you, we're going to fight a B-rank high-level monster. Are you sure eating this stuff will keep you full?"

Byron adjusted his glasses: "Trust me, after high-intensity exertion, your body will thank these high-quality carbohydrates and sugars."

Soon, a waitress came over pushing a small food cart.

An exquisite three-tiered pastry stand was placed on the table between the two of them.

The bottom layer consists of diced smoked salmon rye bread and cucumber sandwiches with the cucumber peeled off.

The middle layer consists of four golden plain scones, accompanied by two small white porcelain dishes, one containing cream and the other containing jam.

The top layer is a Victoria sponge cake sprinkled with powdered sugar.

The entire afternoon tea set was exquisitely presented and a feast for the eyes.

Su Long looked at the sandwiches, each no bigger than his palm, then at the large empty bucket in front of him, and fell into deep thought.

Is this pile of desserts enough to fill a tooth gap?

"Please have one." Byron gestured for him to have one, then slowly picked up a scone and cut it in half with a knife.

He first used a small silver spoon to scoop up a spoonful of cream and spread it evenly on the cut surface of the scones. Then, he used another small spoon to dab a dot of bright red strawberry jam on top of the cream.

After doing all this, he finally picked up half a scone and put it in his mouth with satisfaction.

Su Long's eye twitched.

It's just a flatbread, is it really that big of a deal?

Too lazy to learn the other person's tedious etiquette, he simply reached out and picked up a cucumber sandwich, finishing it in two bites.

The bread was very soft, and the cream cheese was very smooth, but the portion was too small; it felt like I hadn't eaten anything at all.

The two ate in silence, the atmosphere slightly awkward.

Suron ate very quickly, purely to replenish his energy before completing his mission, while Byron remained unhurried, each bite a tribute to the food.

"You said before that the A-rank exorcist in your family also participated in the battle against the False Raven?" Su Long swallowed a big mouthful of dessert before asking.

“Yes,” Byron swallowed his sandwich and wiped his hands with a napkin. “My great-aunt, Mrs. Queenie Ford. While the False Raven’s ability is aging, it is essentially a mimicry of the concept of time. Once its domain expands, it distorts the flow of time within a small area.”

"We suffered a great loss in its domain last time. Although my great-aunt's domain could temporarily resist, the rules of time were too powerful, and my great-aunt almost died of old age inside it."

Su Long nodded. If this mission was so difficult for an A-level exorcist, it must be quite challenging.

"By the way, your domain is quite unique." Byron changed the subject, looking at Suron. "That space made of steel and fire might actually be able to kill that guy."

"It's just an ordinary crematorium, not as classy as your moon," Su Long said vaguely.

The idea of ​​burning corpses for escalation is something that can't be told to anyone.

The two ate and chatted, exchanging their experiences and insights from exorcisms.

Surrender discovered that while Byron was infuriatingly picky about the details of life, he had unique and accurate insights into professional issues such as exorcism.

Time quickly came to 9:30.

With the last piece of cake stuffed into Sulong's mouth, the dessert feast finally came to an end.

Su Long clutched his stomach, his expression strange.

This is the first time in my life I've ever felt like throwing up from eating dessert.

It felt like my stomach had been forcibly filled with cream and honey, so sweet it was cloying.

"Next time, if we have the opportunity to cooperate again," Suron looked at Byron earnestly, "could we change the pre-battle energy replenishment to barbecue or pizza?"

"I'm afraid that won't work." Byron shook his head elegantly, wiping his fingers with a napkin. "The protein and fat conversion efficiency of roasted meat or pizza is too low, and the sugar content is severely lacking. After an intense battle, you'll only thank the high-quality carbohydrates and sugars you're eating now."

Su Long: "Fine, you're the employer, you call the shots."

The two got up and left the coffee shop.

Byron walked to a black Audi RS7 parked not far away, opened the door, and got in.

The car lights came on and flashed twice at Su Long's Cadillac Escalade, signaling him to follow.

Su Long started his car, stepped on the gas, and followed closely behind the nimble sports car.

The two cars, one after the other, drove off the only paved road in front of the café and turned onto a narrow gravel path that could only accommodate one car at a time, heading deeper into the fir forest.

The road winds through the forest, and the beams of car headlights sweep back and forth among the dense tree trunks, cutting out countless shimmering shadows.

The Escalade has a high chassis, so it handles this kind of road surface quite easily, but the Audi in front might have to occasionally shove the ground.

A dozen minutes later, the Audi RS7 in front slowly slowed down and finally stopped in front of a rusty gate.

Su Long also parked the car and got out.

A cold, damp air rushed towards me.

This is the entrance to the Philland Sanatorium.

A large chain lock hung on the iron gate, but it had long been cut and was now ajar.

Passing through the gate, there is a main road overgrown with weeds, with dilapidated stone streetlights on both sides.

As you walk further in, the entire Philland Sanatorium comes into view.

At the heart of this 34-acre campus stands a massive administrative building.

It was a typical Tudor-style building, with dark brown wooden beams interspersed on red brick walls and a steep pitched roof covered with terracotta tiles covered with slippery moss.

Most of the narrow windows on the wall were broken, revealing dark, gaping holes that seemed like pairs of eyes peering at the intruder.

In front of the main building is a desolate square, where large lawns have long been swallowed up by rampant weeds.

Scattered among the lawn and the withered rhododendron bushes were a dozen or so old, colorful tents.

Some tents still had faint charging lights on at their entrances, clearly indicating that many homeless people had made this place their home.

Byron got out of the car, looked up at the castle-like main building, and frowned.

"Something's not right," he said in a low voice.

"What's wrong?" Su Long looked around warily.

"It seems like there are more homeless people than last time." Byron's gaze swept over the homeless people's tents.

"Every time the false crow awakens, it hunts within the sanatorium's perimeter, randomly selecting targets and draining their lifespan."

"When we last came, all the homeless people in these tents looked like they were about to die of old age, but look at them now."

No sooner had Byron finished speaking than the curtain of a tent not far away was lifted, and a ragged vagrant came out carrying an empty bucket, seemingly intending to go somewhere to fetch water.

He glanced at Suron and Byron standing by the car indifferently, then walked off in another direction on his own.

Everything seems to be normal.

Su Long activated his spiritual vision and looked at the main building.

In his view, the entire building was shrouded in a thick, impenetrable fog, a mixture of resentment and death accumulated over the years.

These negative energies lingered around the main building, subtly clinging to the homeless people.

Su Long withdrew his spiritual vision, and the scene before him returned to normal.

He glanced at the dilapidated tents before him, his gaze heavy. "These people have been deeply corrupted."

Byron, hands in his pockets, coldly observed the tents that resembled grave mounds in the darkness: "The last group of homeless people who lived here should all have died of old age by now."

He paused, then continued, "The people in these tents now, although they look just as bad, have significantly stronger vital signs than the previous group."

Surron smiled at Byron and said, "Of course, this is Seattle, the capital of the great United States. Homeless people are like weeds that can never be eradicated. One group dies, and another group quickly fills the void."

After saying that, Su Long looked at a figure who had just crawled back into the tent: "Should we drive them away before the war starts? If the Pseudo-Raven's domain expands, these people will inevitably become the Pseudo-Raven's blood bags. I don't want these people to become weapons used by the Strange to deal with us."

Without a word, Byron pulled a high-powered flashlight from the inside pocket of his trench coat, snapped the switch at the end, and the blinding white light instantly tore through the darkness of the sanatorium square.

He shone the beam of light directly onto the nearest green canvas tent, swaying it back and forth while shouting at the top of his lungs, "Listen! There's an extremely dangerous monster hiding in this building! If you don't want to die, get out of here immediately!"

The bright light and shouts startled the previously silent camp.

The ripping sound of zippers being pulled open rang out one after another, and people emerged one after another from more than a dozen tents.

They were dressed in rags, their clothes so worn that their original color was no longer visible, covered in dirt and holes, and emitting a pungent, rancid stench.

Faced with Byron's bright light and stern warning, these people showed no panic, not even anger at being disturbed.

They simply raised their arms slowly, shielding their eyes from the glare with the backs of their hands, their expressions utterly numb, their gazes fixed on the source of the light, offering no verbal response.

They are completely different from the homeless people who roam downtown Seattle, occasionally begging, sometimes participating in "zero-dollar shopping," robbery, or theft.

The homeless in the city center still retain at least the will to survive; they will fight over half a sandwich.

The homeless people who gather here are mostly those who have completely given up on society or have been completely abandoned by society.

They had long lost the concept of life and death, becoming nothing more than walking corpses, living only because their hearts were still beating, passively waiting for death to come.

Seeing their unresponsive reactions, Su Long immediately realized that conventional communication was pointless here.

"It's no use, they've lost the ability to communicate normally." Surong reached out and pressed the button on the tactical flashlight in Byron's hand, instantly extinguishing the beam. "I'll take over."

Byron raised an eyebrow, put the flashlight back in his pocket, and looked at Suron.

Su Long adjusted his posture and focused his consciousness into his mind. He possessed a mental attribute of up to eighty points, and at this stage, his control over mental power was already superb.

All you need to do is strip away a trace of pure negative emotion and put a little pressure on these people.

Su Long suddenly opened his eyes.

An invisible spiritual wave emanated from him and rapidly spread outwards towards the tent area in front.

Surong unleashed a widespread, mild shockwave of fear. This shockwave was not enough to destroy a person's sanity, but it was certainly enough to awaken a creature's instinct for danger.

The effect is immediate the moment the wave sweeps across the lawn.

The homeless men, who had been expressionless, suddenly stiffened and then began to tremble violently.

Their empty eyes finally revealed genuine fear; their teeth chattered, and some even collapsed onto the muddy ground, their legs giving way.

These people did not turn around and run away like normal people.

They simply cowered and retreated, some stumbling back into their tents, zipping them up tightly, hoping the thin canvas would protect them from all disaster.

Some people, like ostriches, simply huddled in the shadows behind the flowerbeds, shivering. Not a single person even considered leaving the estate.

Su Long frowned.

In the minds of these homeless people, the outside world is far more terrifying than this place, with police officers who could beat them at any time, and all sorts of natural and man-made disasters. They would rather stay in this "home" and refuse to move an inch.

Just as Su Long was considering whether to intensify the mental attack and forcibly scare them away, an accident occurred.

A low groan suddenly came from deep within the massive main administration building.

The voice was extremely old, like dry tree bark rubbing against each other, harsh and withered, penetrating the thick brick wall and clearly reaching the square.

Immediately following was a violent coughing fit, accompanied by a long, weary, and sorrowful sigh.

The moment the sigh rang out, a suffocating sense of oppression suddenly spread from inside the main building.

The originally cold and damp air instantly became extremely murky. The surrounding temperature did not seem to drop, but Su Long felt a chill that ran deep into his bones.

It was the illusion that time was being forcibly pulled away, and life was rapidly slipping away. He could even feel the skin on the back of his hands loosening.

But Surong's eyes told him that it was all just an illusion.

"Gagaga—"

Accompanied by chilling, hoarse screams, a large number of black figures suddenly emerged from the holes in the steep roof of the main building.

A dense swarm of crows erupted from inside the building like a black fountain.

Hundreds and thousands of crows circled above the main building, their sharp cries blending together to envelop the sanatorium in an extremely ominous atmosphere.

Only at this moment did the homeless people hiding in tents and shadows seem to truly sense the terrifying atmosphere that was so close at hand.

The eerie and dangerous aura emanating from the false crow was far more intimidating than any power emanating from a human.

A homeless man suddenly flung open the tent and scrambled out, letting out a muffled scream.

The scream seemed to have flipped a switch, and the remaining homeless people snapped out of their daze and scrambled out of their hiding places.

They stumbled and staggered across the overgrown lawn, running wildly toward the sanatorium gate.

Even if they fall while running, they don't care about their scraped knees. They get up on their hands and feet and keep running, afraid that if they are a step slower, they will be completely swallowed by misfortune.

In just half a minute, the dozen or so homeless people who had been scattered on the lawn had all run away, leaving only an empty tent swaying slightly in the night wind.

Su Long watched the figures disappear at the end of the gravel path before turning his gaze away.

He turned his head and met Byron's gaze. The two exchanged a glance.

Byron reached up and adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose; the lenses reflected the dark shadows of crows circling above the main building.

"Let's go," Byron said, taking a step forward. "Our hospitable host is already waiting for us; there's no reason not to go in."

The wooden doors of the sanatorium's main administrative building are completely rotten. The heavy oak has become as soft as a waterlogged biscuit after decades of moisture erosion.

With just a slight push, Su Long caused the door to collapse inwards with a cracking sound, kicking up a cloud of gray-black wood chips and dust.

The two entered the inner lobby.

This place may have once been one of Seattle's most respectable public spaces, but now it is nothing but endless desolation.

The marble floor was riddled with cracks, and thin weeds were sprouting from the gaps.

Large sections of the originally exquisite reliefs on the surrounding walls have peeled off.

Su Long looked up at the wall to one side, where a few faded promotional posters still remained.

The poster features a nurse in a white cap smiling at a patient in a hospital bed, with the words in bold next to her: "Hope is the best medicine. Let's fight this disease together."

"The medicine couldn't cure them; time took them all away instead," Su Long said calmly, shifting his gaze.

He could sense the sluggishness emanating from the building.

Here, even the dust falls more slowly than outside, and this subtle difference that defies common sense is a sign that the eerie realm is taking shape.

"This way," Byron said, pointing to the front of the hall.

After passing a dilapidated load-bearing wall, an entrance leading underground came into view.

It was a stone staircase leading downwards, with no obstructions at the entrance.

The environment here is even harsher than the one above.

The walls on both sides of the stairs were covered with thick black mold, and a strange, putrid smell permeated the air.

The further down you go, the stronger the stench of decay becomes.

At the end of the stairs was a heavy wooden door. Although its surface was covered with damp mold, it was spared from wind and sun exposure and was not completely rotten like the doors on the ground.

Su Long narrowed his eyes and activated the night vision function of his spiritual vision. The originally pitch-black staircase instantly became clear.

Byron followed behind him, the beam of his tactical flashlight sweeping across the wall, illuminating the twisted mold patterns.

"This is an underground morgue, used to store bodies that died from tuberculosis."

Byron's voice echoed in the narrow stairwell: "In those days, tuberculosis was called the white plague," he said, "and it was extremely contagious. The bodies of the dead couldn't be cremated immediately, nor could they be buried haphazardly; they had to be processed and temporarily stored here first."

Surong shrugged, noncommittal: "Well, it seems we've gone straight into someone else's restaurant."

The two arrived at the wooden door. Su Long stretched out his hand and placed his palm on the cold door panel.

"Squeak"

The heavy door hinge, lacking lubrication, emitted an extremely sharp grinding sound.

The moment the door opened, something unexpected happened!

"Ga"

A burst of intense wing flapping sounds erupted from behind the door.

Hundreds and thousands of black crows seemed to have received some kind of command, and they rushed out of the shadows behind the door in a frenzy.

Because the underground passage was extremely narrow, these black figures almost crashed into Suron and Byron's bodies.

Su Long's eyes turned cold, and he took a step forward.

boom!

A burst of purplish-gold, world-destroying flames erupted from his body. The raging fire formed a protective shield, completely enveloping him.

The crows that flew about were instantly vaporized by the extreme heat the moment they came into contact with the purple-gold flames, before they even had time to emit a burnt smell.

The entire passage was illuminated by the firelight as if it were daytime. The crows were cleaned up, and Su Long was not even covered in a single feather.

Suron extinguished the flames only after the last crow had died.

He turned to Byron and asked, "These crows shouldn't have any aging effect, right?"

Byron shook his head: "As long as the feathers don't fall from the fake crow's body, they're generally harmless."

"Those are just its spies and henchmen. But it's always good to be cautious."

Su Long nodded. He could sense that the atmosphere behind the door had become even more tense after the crows had left.

The two exchanged a glance and stepped into the underground morgue, which had been silent for nearly a century.

The space here is quite large, about 300 square meters, but because the ceiling is very low, it gives people a suffocating feeling of not being able to breathe.

The cement ground beneath our feet was already cracked with countless jagged fissures.

The walls were thick red bricks all around, and the cement and whitewash that were originally applied to the walls had long since peeled off, revealing the dark red bricks underneath.

Furthermore, due to years of dampness, large areas of salt precipitation and powdering have appeared on the walls.

The ceiling was covered with mold spots, and due to the corrosion of the iron components, rings of reddish-brown rust spread overhead like an open spider web.

Not only are the walls and buildings rotting, but the air here is too.

The ventilation system was in disrepair, and the air here showed no signs of movement. A strong musty smell mixed with the strange smell of old dust hit the nostrils.

Near the entrance is a small changing room.

Su Long looked around and found that there were only a few dilapidated wooden cabinets left inside, a few rusty iron nails nailed to the wall, and a thick layer of broken glass on the floor.

Clearly, this was where medical staff used to change into their protective suits before entering the morgue.

After passing through the changing room, the two arrived at the main hall of the morgue.

This is a long, narrow hall, and the space feels particularly cold and gloomy.

In the center of the hall, six cast iron morgue cabinets were neatly arranged, their surfaces rusted black.

The drainage ditch in the corner was already blocked by silt and unidentified debris, and a pool of greenish liquid was accumulating inside, emitting a nauseating stench.

Suron and Byron shuffled their feet, their boots rustling on the cracked concrete.

They walked to the end of the hall. Two small rooms appeared on either side of them.

To the left is a simple dissection room, very small, with a stone dissection table in the center.

Su Long walked over and took a look. The surface of the stone platform was covered with tiny holes and large patches of brown marks, which were proof that countless tuberculosis patients had once lived.

To the right is a storage room.

Inside were some rotten wooden frames.

Byron shone his flashlight and found some broken porcelain bottles and clumps of white powder scattered on the ground, with a faint, pungent chemical smell in the air.

Su Long activated his spiritual vision and carefully searched both rooms.

Apart from the dust and decaying debris covering the ground, he found no strange traces.

"It's not here." Su Long walked out of the storage room, his brows furrowing slightly.

He was certain that the false crow was in this building. The illusion of time passing and the crow riot he had just witnessed were not unfounded.

Su Long stood at the end of the hall, closed his eyes, and concentrated his mental energy in them.

He pushed his spiritual vision to its limit.

In his enhanced vision, the once lifeless morgue began to display different colors.

The vast expanse of gray and black represents decay and death, but within this deathly silence, there is an unusual fluctuation.

It was a strange thread that appeared to be dark purple.

It resembles a translucent spider silk, hanging down from the cracks in the ceiling and drifting elusively through the air.

Following the thread, Su Long moved slowly along the wall.

His movements were very subtle; his right hand was already on the handle of "Sirius".

The direction in which the silk thread extends is a narrow angle between the autopsy room and the morgue hall.

Due to the limitations of the building structure, that place formed a small space that could just accommodate one person.

The ceiling there was covered with dense mold filaments, like an impenetrable curtain hanging down.

Su Long stopped, took a deep breath, and looked into the space behind the mycelium.

In the depths of that narrow, dark corner, a pair of blood-red eyes suddenly lit up, radiating a violent light!