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

Lin Yan filled in for Zhao Qiang. Although his blade couldn't cut through the tomb guardian's body, his speed was enough to draw attention and create space for Zhou Lang to attack.

Zhou Lang plunged in again. A second strike, a third strike, a fourth strike. Each strike left a wound on the Gravekeeper, but the depth of each strike decreased—the Gravekeeper was adapting to his attacks.

One of Mu Chen's teammates was grabbed by a tentacle and flung towards the ceiling. The man deployed a defensive item in mid-air, but the force of the five-star monster was too great for any defensive item to withstand. His body collided with the ceiling with a thud, and then he fell to the ground and remained motionless.

Thirteen people.

Fang Yan swung her sword like a madwoman, her attacks gradually accumulating damage—although each strike dealt negligible damage, her attack frequency was extremely high, and after a hundred strikes, she finally left a wound on the tomb guardian that could not heal immediately.

"Stacked damage effective! Everyone focus your attacks on the same point!" Fang Yan roared.

The twelve still-fighting individuals focused all their attacks on the wound Fang Yan had inflicted. Mu Chen's blue arc of light, Jiang Du's six ghostly weapons, Lin Yan's swift blade, Zhou Lang's chainsaw, Fang Yan's bone knife, and the various attacks from the others all slammed into the same spot.

The gravedigger's body finally began to show obvious damage. The wounds continued to deepen, and a gray substance oozed from them, emitting a pungent odor.

But the cost is also constantly increasing.

Jiang Du's teammate was a fraction of a second too slow in dodging and was struck in the waist by a tentacle. He was bent at an unnatural angle.

Twelve people.

Mu Chen's other teammate.

Eleven people.

Fang Yan herself was also hit. She blocked with her bone knife, but was sent flying, breaking at least three ribs, though she could still stand. She leaned on her knife to get up, spat out a mouthful of bloody phlegm at her wounds, and continued hacking.

The wound was finally deep enough. Zhou Lang saw it—deepest within the gray matter, there was something pulsating. It wasn't a heart, but more like a solidified sphere of light, emitting a faint white glow.

"Core!" Zhou Lang shouted.

He activated all his remaining supernatural power, channeling it into the chainsaw. The saw teeth spun to their maximum speed, the dark red runes merging into a single beam. He leaped up and plunged the chainsaw deep into the wound—

The tomb guardian's tentacles lashed out at him from all directions simultaneously.

Lin Yan attacked from the side, severing the two nearest tentacles with a single strike. He shielded Zhou Lang with his body, and the third tentacle struck Zhou Lang's back. The fourth struck his leg. The fifth—

Lin Yan's knife slipped from his hand.

He looked down at his body. There was a hole through his chest.

"The knife...please pick it up for me."

After saying that, he collapsed.

Zhou Lang's chainsaw touched the ball of light at that moment.

explosion.

It wasn't an explosion in the conventional sense. It was light. A blinding white light burst forth from the tomb guardian's body, engulfing the entire hall.

Zhou Lang was thrown back by the shockwave and crashed heavily to the ground. His vision was filled with white light, and he couldn't see anything. His ears were ringing, and he couldn't hear anything.

I don't know how much time passed, but the light faded.

Zhou Lang lay on the ground, propped himself up on his arms, and looked around.

The hall was a mess. The tomb guardian was gone, leaving only a pool of gray liquid. The coffin was still there, but the inscriptions had all faded.

Zhao Qiang leaned against the corner of the wall, blood still seeping from the empty, severed wound on his right arm. His eyes were closed, and his chest was not rising or falling.

Lin Yan lay prone not far from Zhou Lang, with a large patch of dark red beneath him.

Fang Yan collapsed beside the bone knife, which had shattered into three pieces. Her body was still warm, but she was no longer breathing.

Mu Chen lay beside the coffin, his left hand still clutching one of the ghost artifacts, the other broken. He had a hole in his chest identical to Lin Yan's.

Jiang Du sat in the corner, his glasses nowhere to be seen. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling, his pupils dilated.

Fourteen people entered the hall.

Those who survived—

Zhou Lang turned his head and saw Han Yingying. She was leaning against a pillar, blood on her forehead, but she was moving. She was alive.

The remaining twelve men were all killed in action.

Zhou Lang knelt on the ground, something stuck in his throat, something he couldn't spit out or swallow. He crawled towards Zhao Qiang and felt his pulse. Nothing. He crawled towards Lin Yan. Nothing.

"Chen Ke. Zhao Qiang. Lin Yan."

His voice cracked violently when he uttered those three names.

Han Yingying walked over and squatted down next to him.

She didn't offer any empty words of comfort. She simply reached out and placed her hand on the coffin.

The coffin lid began to move.

"Don't touch it—" Zhou Lang tried to stop her.

"It's nothing." Han Yingying's voice was completely different from before, carrying a distant, ancient echo. "I remember. I remember everything."

The coffin lid was fully opened.

It's empty inside.

No, it's not entirely empty. There's a picture carved on the inner wall of the coffin. It depicts two figures—one extremely tall, with blurred outlines, standing in endless void; the other, smaller than him, standing opposite him, holding something in his hands.

That thing was a lamp.

Zhou Lang's hand unconsciously reached into his pocket and grasped the oil lamp.

The lamp body was scalding hot.

The bandaged man's voice boomed—not in my mind, but echoing throughout the entire hall: "Enough! Stop looking! You're not ready yet!"

But Zhou Lang had already seen the entire painting.

The towering figure was tearing itself in two. One half transformed into countless monsters, scattering throughout the endless world. The other half transformed into light, shrinking and compressing, eventually taking the shape of a human infant.

Beside the baby stood a woman. She caught the baby, then turned and walked into the mortal world.

That woman's face—

She looks exactly like Han Yingying.

"Who are you?" Zhou Lang asked Han Yingying, his voice hoarse.

Han Yingying looked at him, and tears finally fell.

"I am the guardian. When you transform into a human, let me stay by your side, watch over you, and remind you when you are strong enough."

She reached out and touched Zhou Lang's forehead.

"You are the God of Balance. One of the two gods who created this world. The other—your brother—went mad. He sees humanity as a failure and wanted to erase this world and start anew through a bizarre descent. You couldn't stop him because your powers were equal. So you did something."

"You transformed yourself into a human, sealing the power of the gods within every tool you created. Oil lamps, chainsaws, canes—everything you found 'useful' was a fragment of your own power."

"You designed this entire game—not a game of strange arrivals, but a game of your own growth. You reassemble your fragments through repeated dungeons, and when you are complete enough, you can return to the body of a god and end your brother's madness."

Zhou Lang's hands were trembling. The oil lamp was getting hotter and hotter, so hot that he could barely hold it—but he didn't let go.