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

"Let go," Shen Wei said calmly. "If you can't hold me back, the bridge will break."

"Shut up!" Han Yingying braced herself against the bridge with one hand, while the other hand gripped Shen Wei's wrist tightly, her nails digging into the other's skin.

An ominous creaking sound came from the bridge surface.

Shen Wei shoved the only bottle in the medicine box that hadn't fallen out—the one she hadn't mentioned before—into Han Yingying's hand.

"Here you go."

Then she pried open Han Yingying's fingers.

One, two, three.

Han Yingying had no time to react.

Shen Wei fell into the void, without screaming or struggling. Her figure shrank, faded, and finally disappeared completely.

The bridge surface has stabilized.

Han Yingying knelt on the bridge, holding the bottle of liquid in her hand. The bottle had no label, and the liquid was dark red, slightly warm in her palm.

The pursuers behind them were getting closer and closer.

Zhou Lang helped Han Yingying up and pushed her forward. After crossing the bridge, Xiong Batian and Lu Yuan followed. The team of six became five, and they had only been in the instance for less than two hours.

After crossing the narrow bridge, there is a small stone chamber, and there is nothing unusual at the moment.

Xiong Batian planted the iron axe in the ground and wiped the sweat and blood from his face with his sleeve. "That girl... she's just gone like that?"

No one answered.

Zhou Lang squatted in the corner and shone the oil lamp on the walls of the stone chamber. The patterns on the walls were different from before—no longer eyes, but a scene: a group of blurry, tall figures surrounding an even taller figure, the tallest being holding up a sphere with mountains and rivers drawn inside.

"What is this... a creation myth?" Lu Yuan leaned closer.

The next scene in the mural: Among the tall figures, one is different from the others—its body is covered in cracks, from which light overflows. The other figures gradually turn their backs to it, leaving only a smaller figure standing beside it.

The next image: The figure, riddled with cracks, is pushed into the abyss. At the bottom of the abyss are countless pairs of closed eyes.

The last image: A human figure is thrown from an abyss, falling into the mountains and rivers within a sphere. The figure is very small, like an infant.

The mural ends here.

Zhou Lang stared at the last picture for a long time.

"I'm leaving." He stood up, his tone flat. "I won't have much time to rest."

A scream came from afar.

[Remember the fastest online novel website: 20 ...

It wasn't someone from their group—the voice came from another direction, audible even through several layers of stone walls.

It could be Lao Ma's team, or Qin Lie's team, or Jiang Xue's team.

The 48-hour countdown has jumped to 45 hours.

There is still a long way to go.

After a 15-minute rest, the team set off again.

The passageway at the other end of the stone chamber was even narrower, only wide enough for two people to pass side by side. The murals on the walls were gone, replaced by a layer of dense scratches—not writing, but more like scratches made by fingernails.

Lu Yuan took out the remaining notebook and examined the engravings for a long time by the light of the oil lamp.

“These marks are regular,” he said in a low voice, “some kind of counting method. They’re in groups of seven, and there are at least several thousand groups on the wall right now.”

"Several thousand sets?" Zhao Qiang frowned. "Who's been counting for tens of thousands of days in this godforsaken place?"

"Maybe it's not fate," Lu Yuan said, "maybe it's the number of deaths."

There was a two-second silence in the passageway after he said that.

Zhou Lang walked at the front, the green light of the oil lamp casting his shadow on the wall like a long, black ribbon. His attention wasn't on the carvings, but on the changes in the ground ahead—the stone slabs became softer as he walked, gradually transforming from hard rock into a flexible gray substance.

He stomped his foot. The ground bounced slightly.

"Don't walk too fast," he said.

"Why does the ground feel like...skin?" Han Yingying reached out and touched the wall, then immediately pulled her hand back. "The wall is warm too."

Xiong Batian, who was walking against the wall, jumped back three steps after hearing this.

After about ten minutes of the passage, a door appeared ahead.

The door was enormous, at least five meters high, and made of a translucent bone-like material. It had no handles, no locks, but a crack ran from top to bottom, like a half-healed wound.

Zhou Lang touched the crack with the tip of the scissors.

The door shook.

A crack opened, and a warm breeze blew out. The breeze carried the sound of a heartbeat—not theirs, but that of someone behind the door, steady and powerful, extremely slow, about once every four or five seconds.

"What's behind that?" Zhao Qiang took a half step back.

Zhou Lang held the oil lamp up to the crack. Green light pierced through the gap, illuminating the scene behind the door—

A fleshy red passageway, its surface covered with vein-like patterns, expands and contracts with each heartbeat.

"We're entering the interior of a living organism," Lu Yuan said hoarsely.

"What living organism?"

"I don't know. But judging from the murals... it might be the remains of a god."

Zhao Qiang swallowed hard. "So, 'the graveyard of gods' means—"

"We are standing inside the body of a god who is dead but not completely dead," Zhou Lang finished for him.

"Can we change our way of life?" Zhao Qiang murmured.

Zhou Lang ignored him and pushed open the bone door.

The temperature inside the passageway was more than ten degrees higher than outside. With each step, the fleshy ground beneath my feet would slightly sink and bounce back. The air was humid and sticky; I could feel the moisture clinging to my lungs when I breathed it in.

The flame of the oil lamp changed color, from green to pale gold.

"Your light—" Han Yingying noticed.

Zhou Lang saw it too. He didn't say anything, but his pace noticeably slowed down.

Halfway through the passage, something emerged from the fleshy wall on the side.

It's not a stone statue, nor a monster in a coffin.

It's a face.

To be precise, there were countless faces. They squeezed out from the flesh walls, densely packed, their features indistinct, like candles melted by fire. All these faces were turned toward them, their mouths opening and closing, but no sound came out.

"The face of a heretic." Lu Yuan flipped through his notes, his fingers trembling. "According to some ancient records, the souls devoured by evil gods become part of their bodies, never to be separated—"

A hand emerged from the flesh and grabbed Lu Yuan's ankle.

The speed was too fast; there was simply no time to react.

The second hand, the third hand.

Dozens of hands reached out from the fleshy walls, all grabbing at Lu Yuan. He was pulled towards the wall at an absurd speed, and half of his body was already embedded in the fleshy walls.

"Pull me out!" Lu Yuan's voice changed.

Xiong Batian lunged forward, grabbed Lu Yuan's arm, and tried to pull him away. But the suction of the flesh wall was too strong, and the two were engaged in an absurd tug-of-war—on one side was a burly man weighing two hundred pounds, and on the other side was a wall with a heartbeat.

The wall won.

Lu Yuan's body was gradually engulfed. First his legs, then his waist, then his chest. His struggles grew weaker and weaker; his glasses were knocked off and lay askew on the surface of the flesh, the lenses still gleaming.

"Notes..." That was what he said last, not "help."

His hand reached out from inside the flesh and threw the notebook away.

Then he disappeared into the wall.

The surface of the flesh wall returned to its smooth state. Lu Yuan's glasses fell to the ground, and one lens shattered.