I, the screenwriter, have experienced a resurgence of inspiration.

The ghosts went into a frenzy.

Flesh and blood, blood, severed limbs.

The headless horseman rode a ghostly horse, flying over corpses and filth.

The clown, dressed in a court dress, reveals a hideous, grotesque face.

The drowned ghosts surrounded the corpse, devouring the blood.

Countless overlapping male and female voices sounded like a chorus from hell:

[Praise Satan!]

[Praise be to the Lord of Hell!]

[Praise the filth!]

[You're so kind!]

The ghosts sang in unison.

Corpses are everywhere.

Outside the instance, Song Mo was so angry he almost threw his phone.

She didn't plan to make this dungeon too difficult, so she only released seven supernatural creatures in total.

Even if dead players turn into ghosts, there won't be that many!

She went through the script line by line, trying to find the cause of the anomaly.

There are thirteen carriages, with a total of one hundred and fifty players.

With all the veteran players still alive, plus the 52 new players who died, there can only be 59 anomalies in the entire instance.

Where did those extra three hundred-plus ghosts come from?!

Old London, are you having some kind of problem?

……

……

"If an unscripted script can fall into reality, then by the same logic, is it possible for ghosts in reality to be attracted to a fictional world?"

Song Mo paced back and forth on the ground, rapidly piecing together the information in his mind.

reality.

Copy.

Copies that are not fully controlled by the editors will become anchored to reality, and may even become part of reality.

Conversely, could real-world vengeful spirits and ghosts be attracted to the out-of-control instance and voluntarily enter it?

The British Underground Railway has been built for over a century, and she probably doesn't know how many accidents it has caused or how much paranormal material it contains.

So the train being pulled into the instance acts like a giant lure, continuously attracting low-level materials from the surrounding area.

The ability to manipulate copies of reality—in novels, such beings are generally called "evil gods."

He suffered from severe headaches at the end of the Song Dynasty.

Leaving aside the consequences of the Hell Train arriving in reality, let's just talk about the few professional veteran players she painstakingly trained, and that gold-quality [Druid]—

The death list is entirely in crimson.

[Player Zhao Weilai: Dead]

[Player Weng Yang: Dead]

[Player Ding Feifan: Dead]

[Player Deng Ziwen: Dead]

……

……

[Currently surviving players: 0]

One hundred and fifty people were wiped out.

Can't save?

Since the number of materials exceeds the limit, retrieving the materials should solve the problem, right?

At the end of the Song Dynasty, he made a decisive move, drawing countless ink lines in the air with his hand, and words appeared one by one with his inspiration.

Rewriting the ending of a story requires a large amount of scriptwriting points.

This kind of out-of-control instance will only consume more resources.

At the end of the Song Dynasty, the option to "modify" was selected.

She won't personally go into the dungeon to collect materials.

The risk is too high.

Song Mo's gaze swept across the corpses in the instance, finally settling on the mangled body of a blonde woman in the corner of the carriage:

【Revise.】

……

……

The text flowed rapidly, heading towards the Death Train instance, which had become a ghost town—

[Setting: A headless female corpse is found between two train carriages. A suitable head is retrieved, and the body is pieced together to create a temporary executor.]

[Requires 100 Scriptwriting Points.]

[Setting: The "Executor" possesses the highest level of access to instances, capable of containing all abnormal souls and adding them to the resource library.]

[Requires 100 Scriptwriting Points.]

[Settings: After the event is resolved, time will rewind to before the anomaly occurred, resetting the player status within the instance.]

[Requires 3200 Scriptwriting Points.]

The black text, like silk threads, seeped into the copy.

The next second, a change occurred inside the hellish death train.

In the gap between the first and second carriages, a female corpse wearing an old coat slowly moved her fingers.

……

……

"Click."

"Click."

The woman was headless, and the skin and flesh at the severed neck had turned black.

It supported itself on the ground, slowly groped around, and finally picked up Nina's head.

Nina's face clearly shows French Caucasian features: fair skin and chestnut curly hair.

His eyes were tightly closed, and the terror before death still lingered on his face.

"Click".

"Click".

The unidentified female corpse held the severed head in her hands and placed it back onto the broken neck.

The fine black characters, like the finest sutures, coiled around the wound on the neck.

The black thread burrowed into the flesh, weaving and stitching like a living thing.

The cut skin and flesh healed at a speed visible to the naked eye, leaving only a ring of light black, fine lines that resembled a tattoo.

The skin tone difference is very obvious.

The woman's body was light wheat-colored, while the skin on her head was a cool white.

The two pieces of the corpse were pieced together, creating an indescribably eerie scene.

"?"

Nina tilted her head, braced herself with her hands on the ground, and slowly stood up.

The rusty joints made a cracking sound, and the movements were stiff.

As if she wasn't quite used to her new body, she slowly opened her eyes.

His pupils were cloudy, grayish-white, empty, and devoid of any vitality.

Keep moving forward.

The black text flashed across my pupils.

The corpse raised its head and looked at the carriage filled with ghosts, its empty eyes devoid of any emotion.

The words, like puppet strings, hung high in the void, controlling the female corpse's movements.

Then, she opened her mouth.

A hoarse but clearly articulated Chinese voice came from her unfamiliar throat:

"Do you know that screenwriters who work overtime are more resentful than ghosts?"

"So you're the ones who made me work overtime, right?"

"Put them all in my backpack and take them back to give Ah Yan an extra treat."

……

……

……

The moment Nina opened her eyes, a "death party" was held in the carriage, and the ghosts that had been frantically devouring the flesh and blood of the living suddenly stopped.

Like prey that has spotted a predator, it lies on the ground trembling.

The ghosts that were just rampaging through the carriage were now as docile as the most obedient flock of sheep.

Within the flower-like mass formed by dozens of vengeful spirits, countless twisted faces opened their mouths, and a dozen grayish-white claws obsequiously raised a heart—

Without even glancing at it, the female corpse reached out and scooped up the ghost with practiced ease, as if catching a fish.

[Aaaaaah!]

[Aaaaaah—!]

The ghosts let out piercing screams, struggled, and writhed, but none of them tried to escape.

[Collect materials.]

Text commands from outside the instance guided the female corpse forward, and the ghosts it touched all turned into lines of text.

The ghost of the bloodthirsty witch.

The ghost of the red scarf.

The ghost of the Ripper.

[The ghost of a male practitioner.]

The ghost of the headless horseman in the castle.

One by one, the ghosts transformed into words. The female corpse moved slowly, yet exuded an extremely oppressive majesty.

The entire carriage was filled with distorted, grotesque faces.

Grayish-white limbs were intertwined, covering the sky and the earth.

The female corpse was expressionless.

She raised her hand, and countless fine black threads flew from her fingertips.

The ghosts bound by black threads looked like grasshoppers strung together.

Large, large bunches, an absolutely spectacular sight.

Just like picking ripe fruit in an orchard, Nina didn't pause.

They kept reaching out, picking the ghosts one by one from the black line, like picking grapes.

Not a single ghost escaped.

All the spirits obediently awaited "death".

……

……

……

At the end of the Song Dynasty, text was entered outside the copy, as if they were playing some kind of word game.

The vengeful ghost Ayan clearly heard what Song Mo had just said. She squatted down beside him, holding a plate, looking on expectantly.

—She's never eaten foreign devils before, so she doesn't know what they taste like.