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

This place feels so real.

There was a crumpled newspaper at my feet with the headline "Day 317, the Defense Line Completely Collapses." The date was three years ago—the year the horror game was released.

"This is the future of the real world." Zhou Lang handed the newspaper to Han Yingying.

Han Yingying's expression changed after reading it. The newspaper reported that on the 317th day since the strange occurrence, the last safe zone for humans had been breached. Less than three percent of the global population remained alive.

"If we don't make it through," she said, "that's the end."

Zhao Qiang leaned over for a glance, then immediately slammed the newspaper on the ground: "There's no need to show me this kind of thing."

Footsteps came from the street ahead.

The three quickly took cover behind an overturned bus.

What arrived were people—or rather, survivors from other teams.

Only the Arbitrator remained in the courtroom. His left arm hung in the air, clearly broken, his face covered in dried blood, and several new, deep, bone-revealing scratches appeared on his bald head.

Only one Nightcrawler survived, a tall, thin man wearing a hood, presumably the captain, "Shadow." He walked silently, but very slowly, dragging his right leg.

The Iron Wall team was wiped out.

There were more than 20 people in the four teams when they came in, but only five survived to the seventh floor.

The Arbiter saw Zhou Lang and his group first. He paused for a moment, his previous arrogance gone.

"Where's Lao Wu's key?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

"It's with me." Zhou Lang shook the key.

"The sixth son's?"

"It's with me too."

The Arbiter opened his mouth, unsure whether to curse or submit. Finally, he twitched the corner of his mouth, his expression a mix of a smile and a grin: "Well, you're quite something."

"How did you get up here?" Han Yingying asked.

The Arbiter spat a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the ground. "After the ghosts on the fifth floor dispersed, we chased after them. The sixth floor..." He paused, "My five teammates were all sucked by that face monster. I couldn't fight it alone, so I used my teammates as bait to hold it off and found the key through its gaps."

He spoke very calmly, as if he were talking about someone else's affairs.

Zhao Qiang muttered a curse under his breath from behind.

"Shadow" remained silent. He stood against the wall, his hood covering most of his face, revealing only a section of his chin; he looked very young.

"Do we share keys?" he asked, his voice sounding younger than his appearance.

Zhou Lang looked into the depths of the ruins. At the end of the street stood a gigantic door, ridiculously tall, as if it were prepared for something far beyond human size. There were seven keyholes on the door.

Seven floors, seven keys.

"How many Saints are there?" Zhou Lang asked.

"Three. And you?"

"Four."

Exactly seven.

"Then there's no choice." The Arbiter walked over and slapped three keys into Zhou Lang's hands. "Open the door. At this point, it doesn't matter who has the keys."

Zhou Lang took the key and led everyone toward the door.

Seven keys were inserted into the lock one by one, and each time they were turned, a light pattern lit up on the door. When the seventh key was turned, the entire door slowly opened to both sides.

Behind the door is a spherical space.

There was no floor, no walls, no ceiling. Five people stood in the void, their feet resting on an invisible plane. The "walls" of the spherical space were covered with images—like countless screens pieced together, each playing different content.

Some scenes show players struggling in dungeons, others show cities in the real world being strangely corrupted, and still others show people scrambling for food in safe zones...

All the suffering was being played out. It was being watched.

In the very center of the spherical space, a chair is suspended.

Something is sitting on the chair.

It's called a "thing" because it doesn't resemble a person, a ghost, or any monster that has appeared in any dungeon. Its appearance is constantly changing—one second it's a middle-aged man in a suit, the next it's a little girl holding a doll, and the next it's a hunched old man.

The only thing that remains unchanged is the eyes.

The two eyes were like specks of light embedded in the air. No matter how their shape changed, the eyes always remained in the same position, looking down at everyone.

"Congratulations," it said. The voice changed, alternating between male, female, old, and child voices, "You are the first group to get here."

The Arbiter breathed heavily: "What are you?"

"Administrator," it said, "or you can call me—the Evil God."

Zhao Qiang: "..."

Han Yingying clenched her fists.

The evil god—the culprit who unleashed the bizarre games—sat right in front of them.

"Did you orchestrate this strange occurrence?" the Arbiter asked.

"Of course," the evil god changed her posture, transforming into a girl with her legs crossed, her voice becoming light and cheerful, "I'm bored. Your world is too peaceful, it lacks excitement."

Zhao Qiang's face turned bright red.

Zhou Lang remained silent. He was looking at the "screens"—the images. He found one.

The image shows a woman in her early twenties who looks somewhat like him, curled up in a dark space.

sister.

"She's still alive." Han Yingying saw it too.

Zhou Lang's breathing quickened.

The evil god followed his gaze and laughed again: "Oh, you're looking at that? I deliberately hid her away—because she was too much of a nuisance. Do you know why?"

Zhou Lang did not answer.

"Because she recognized you." The evil god stood up from its chair and floated towards Zhou Lang. Its appearance changed—it transformed into Zhou Lang's own likeness.

They have the exact same face, not even a single strand of hair is different.

"Don't you find it strange?" it said to Zhou Lang using Zhou Lang's face. "Why do you have skill attributes that others don't? Why can you scare ghosts? Why can an oil lamp collect spirits in your hands?"

"Because you are not human."

"You are God."

These words fell to the ground like a stone thrown into a pool of water.

Zhao Qiang: "Huh?"

"To be specific," the evil god floated back two steps, reverting to its constantly shifting state, "you are the guardian of this world. Or rather—you used to be. When I came, you blocked my way, so I shattered your divine status and stuffed you into the body of an ordinary person."

"Your memories and your power have all been dismantled by me. But some things can't be completely dismantled—like your affinity for spirits, or that inexplicable 'scare ghost' tag. That wasn't given to you by the system; it's your remaining divine power operating in the way it can."

Zhou Lang stood there, something stirring in his mind.

It was like a locked door, with the lock being turned.

"Your sister," the evil god said again, "is not your real sister. She is your 'anchor'—after I shattered you, a small piece of your divinity resided in her. The closer she was to you, the faster you recovered. So I took her away."

"Sever your connection with the anchor, and you'll forever remain just an ordinary player—an exceptionally skilled ordinary player. Interesting, but it won't change anything."

At this point, the evil god clapped his hands.

The spherical space began to shrink.