A bizarre and terrifying experience; I messed up the dungeon world.

Zhou Lang walked around the room and finally picked up a black dagger.

"What is this?"

"Shadow Blade," Zhang Yang said, "can sever the connection between ghosts and monsters, preventing them from summoning their companions."

Zhou Lang put the dagger into his inventory and then took out a few pieces of armor.

"Oh, right," Zhang Yang suddenly said, "Can I borrow that bandaged ghost of yours to take a look?"

Zhou Lang raised his right hand, and the bandage stretched out, wriggling.

Zhang Yang stared at it for a while: "The integration is very high. It seems that you and it are quite compatible."

"What do you mean?"

"There's a hidden attribute to ghost weapon fusion called compatibility," Zhang Yang explained. "The higher the compatibility, the stronger the power after fusion. Your bandaged ghost has a compatibility of at least 80%."

Zhou Lang raised an eyebrow: "So, what's your compatibility rating?"

"60%." Zhang Yang smiled wryly. "I fused with a shadow ghost, but the compatibility wasn't high, so my abilities are limited."

"Shadow Ghost?"

"Yes." Zhang Yang's shadow suddenly moved, got up from the ground, and turned into a black humanoid figure.

Zhou Lang's eyes lit up: "That's quite an ability."

"It's alright," Zhang Yang said, "but it's nowhere near as good as your bandaged ghost."

The two were talking when the door was suddenly pushed open.

Xiaoxue walked in, holding a document in her hand.

"Team Leader Zhang, we have a new mission."

"What mission?"

"There are ghosts appearing in the abandoned factory in the east of the city," Xiaoxue said. "Three people have already gone missing, and the bureau has sent us to handle it."

Zhang Yang looked at Zhou Lang: "Want to come along? It'll be a good opportunity for you to familiarize yourself with our work process."

Zhou Lang nodded: "Let's go."

The three drove to the east of the city, an old industrial area filled with abandoned factories.

They stopped in front of a dilapidated factory, and Zhou Lang could sense something inside.

"Be careful," Zhang Yang said. "The ghosts here are cunning; they specifically target people who are alone."

The three entered the factory, which was pitch black except for a few beams of light shining through the broken roof.

Zhou Lang lit the oil lamp, and its green light illuminated the surroundings.

Various tools were scattered on the ground, rusty iron chains hung on the wall, and the air was filled with a musty smell.

"There's something there," Xiaoxue suddenly said.

Zhou Lang followed her gaze and saw a dark shadow wriggling in the corner.

It was a human-shaped thing, but its body was twisted beyond recognition, its limbs were bent backwards, and its head was hanging down in front of its chest.

"Worker injury ghosts," Zhang Yang said. "These ghosts are formed after workers die in accidents, and they attack anyone who enters their territory."

No sooner had he finished speaking than the ghost suddenly pounced on him.

Zhang Yang's shadow immediately blocked the way, and he engaged in a fierce battle with the ghost.

Xiaoxue pulled out a gun and fired several shots at the ghost.

The bullets struck the monster, splattering black blood, but it didn't stop.

"Ordinary weapons are useless against it," Zhang Yang said. "We have to use a ghost weapon."

Zhou Lang took out his chainsaw and rushed forward.

The chainsaw started, its teeth slicing through the monster's body, black blood splattering everywhere.

The ghost let out a piercing scream and struggled to escape, but Zhou Lang held it down firmly.

"it's over."

The chainsaw severed the monster's neck, and its body instantly turned into black mist, dissipating into the air.

"Well done," Zhang Yang said.

Zhou Lang put away the chainsaw and was about to speak when he suddenly sensed a strong sense of malice.

He turned around abruptly and saw a little girl walking out from deep within the factory.

The girl looked about seven or eight years old, wearing a tattered dress, with a pale face and no light in her eyes.

"Another one?" Xiaoxue frowned.

"No," Zhou Lang said, "this is different."

The girl walked slowly over, and with each step she took, the temperature around her dropped by one degree.

Zhang Yang's expression changed: "It's strange!"

At the end of the stairs was a narrow corridor, the walls of which were covered with mold and the air was filled with the stench of decay.

Zhou Lang walked forward holding the oil lamp. The green light shone on the wall, revealing scratches that were deeply embedded in the wall, as if something was desperately trying to escape.

"It's so cold here." Han Yingying hugged her arms, and her breath was visible as white mist.

Zhao Qiang followed closely behind Zhou Lang, his eyes constantly darting around: "Why do I feel like something's watching us?"

"Don't scare yourself," Zhou Lang said, but his hand was already gripping the chainsaw tightly.

At the end of the corridor appeared a door, made of iron, with a second lock on it.

This lock is very special; it's entirely blood red, and the keyhole is shaped like an open mouth.

"This is the Blood Lock?" Zhao Qiang swallowed hard.

Zhou Lang nodded and took out a small bottle from his pocket, which contained the bandaged man's blood.

"When did you prepare this?" Han Yingying asked in surprise.

"Before we came," Zhou Lang said, pouring blood onto the lock. The blood was immediately absorbed, and the lock clicked open automatically.

Pushing open the door, you'll find an even larger space inside, like an operating room.

Several rusty operating tables were placed against the wall, with belts still tied to them. Various medical instruments were scattered on the floor, all stained with black blood.

A third door stands in the center of the room.

This door is completely different from the previous two. It looks very ordinary; it's just a wooden door without any latches.

But Zhou Lang knew that this was the hardest door to open.

"Heart lock," he murmured to himself.

"What?" Zhao Qiang didn't hear clearly.

"It's nothing." Zhou Lang walked to the door, took a deep breath, and reached out to push the door open.

The door remained completely still.

He increased his strength, but the door still wouldn't budge.

"Let me try." Zhao Qiang stepped forward and pushed the door with all his might, but the door still did not respond.

Han Yingying tried it too, and the result was the same.

"There's something wrong with this," Zhao Qiang said. "Is there some special method needed?"

Zhou Lang recalled the bandaged man's words: only those who truly want to die can open this door.

He closed his eyes and began to recall.

The death of his parents, the disappearance of his sister, and the days of struggling to survive in this world alone.

Those painful memories flooded back, and he told himself that there was news of his sister behind the door, and that he would die for her if he could find her.

He pushed the door open again.

This time, the door opened.

"How did you do that?" Zhao Qiang asked, his eyes wide.

Zhou Lang didn't answer. He stared at the scene behind the door, completely stunned.

Behind the door was not a terrifying scene, but a very ordinary room.

There was a bed in the room, and a person was lying on the bed.

To be precise, he is a person pieced together from different parts.

This person's body is composed of different parts; the left and right arms are clearly not from the same person, the legs are also different, and several different pieces of skin have been stitched together on the face.

But what shocked Zhou Lang the most was that this person was still alive.

Its chest was heaving, and its eyes were open, staring at the ceiling.

"What is this thing?" Zhao Qiang's voice changed.

"The dean's favorite patient," Zhou Lang said, "who is also the true owner of this resort."

The person who was piecing things together suddenly turned around and looked at Zhou Lang and the other two.

"We have a guest," it said, its voice hoarse as if it hadn't spoken in a long time. "It's strange, it's been a long time since anyone has been able to open that door."

Zhou Lang gripped the chainsaw tightly, ready for battle.

But the person piecing things together just smiled: "Don't be nervous, I won't hurt you. At least not now."

"Who are you?" Zhou Lang asked.

"Me?" The composite figure thought for a moment, "I don't even know who I am anymore. My body comes from dozens of different people, and my memories are all mixed up. I can't tell which ones are real and which ones are fake."