日本一级AAAAA毛片

Chapter 78

Mo Yi was leaning back against the old twisted door. He felt its frosty coldness through his thin clothes. Rhythmic knocks on the other side of the door travelled along the door frame, making him feel as though all his five internal organs were trembling along with the resulting vibrations.

The singing voice came persistently from downstairs, seemingly penetrating through the thin walls, as it continued humming the repetitive rhyme softly.

It was a normal nursery rhyme, but when combined with the monotonous knocking coming from behind him, it became especially eerie and creepy.

Mo Yi pushed back with all his might, pressing the ill-fitted door harder into its frame.

Fortunately, the hallucinating players were as passive as puppets and their movements were small, controlled, and stiff. Otherwise, he really couldn’t guarantee that he could deter these three adult players behind the door.

Mo Yi glanced towards one end of the hallway where the unconscious bodies of Zhou Yunchen and Wang Zhu were limp on the ground. Under the shade of the looming pile of debris, they simply looked like two fuzzy and undulating shadows.

Mo Yi trusted Ivy’s skill—they probably wouldn’t wake up anytime soon.

He lowered his gaze, tugging over and unzipping his backpack. With the flashlight in one hand, he reached into the bag with the other—

—and pulled out the human skin book he had previously hastily stuffed into it.

He could feel the soft elasticity of the skin cover under his fingertips, see its dry skin texture clearly under the dim halo of white light, and sense the hair-raising malevolent aura emanating from it.

Mo Yi took a deep breath. He ignored the persistent singing in his ears and the continuous pounding against the door, and flipped the book open.

According to the letter from the small box, this book should have been handed down by Ivy’s grandmother. Her grandmother was burned to death as a witch, but this book was still passed down in her family, and ended up in Ivy’s hands.

Furthermore, the sacrificial ceremony Ivy used to resurrect her child was also from this book.

Mo Yi leafed through the pages. The rustle of paper was distinct in the narrow and dark hallway.

Unlike the letters he had found in the cemetery earlier, which were in a mix of Latin and English, this book was written entirely in Latin only, without any English, and was even mixed with a lot of weird symbols. Inferring from the shapes of these symbols, this could have been a branch of the ancient Semitic language.

Mo Yi frowned in annoyance. Irritation welled up within his heart.

The ancient language he knew was limited to the few guidebooks he had briefly browsed through previously, and it was almost impossible for him to accurately translate all the information about the occultic practices written in this book.

It was akin to sitting on a gold mine without the proper mining tools.

Mo Yi pursed his lips in displeasure. Under the dim light of the hallway, this rare trace of emotion on his pale face made him resemble a petulant child.

He discreetly decided: after getting out of this instance, he must definitely put some effort into learning those ancient languages.

Then, while contemplating how to go about doing this, Mo Yi continued flipping through the book disinterestedly.

Until a yellowed paper hanging half-out of the human skin book caught his eye.

Surprised, Mo Yi quickly flipped to it, only to find a handwritten letter sandwiched between the pages. Half of it had been torn off, and familiar traces of uneven tear marks lined the bottom of the letter.

Mo Yi’s eyes lit up instantly. He hurriedly opened the side pocket of his backpack and took out the paper he’d found in the tomb.

The elegant and smooth penmanship on that soiled paper spotted with blood matched up exactly with the letter hidden in the human skin book.

Mo Yi held the two sheets up, and perfectly aligned their crooked tear marks.

He pursed his dry lips in excitement. His breathing sped up.

There was more English written on the half found in the tomb. Although there were still quite a number of Latin words mixed in, but with Mo Yi’s basic foundation in the language, he could still more or less grasp the general meaning.

He laid the two halves flat on the ground. Holding the flashlight in one hand and the open human skin book in the other, he flickered his gaze between the two, mentally substituting in various combinations of words in an attempt to decipher the content of the torn letter.

And during this, the preoccupied man failed to promptly notice that the singing had suddenly stopped.

A strange and thick silence enveloped the hallway, spreading out and rising up like a tide, clogging every open pore on his body.

Mo Yi finally snapped out of his thoughts. He was stunned by the silence for a good few seconds before he glanced at the watch on his wrist: there was still around 20 minutes left in this hour.

Yet the singing stopped all of a sudden… Something was horribly wrong.

Mo Yi raised his guard immediately and surveyed his surroundings warily—

There was only darkness before his eyes. There was no hallway, no house, no singing, and no shaking door panel behind his back.

There was nothing at all.

Nothing in this thick and insoluble darkness, which felt suffocatingly condensed within this borderless space. The omnipresent darkness created a space that was so quiet, it seemed timeless. An uneasy chill slid up his calf, twining around his limb like the cold, sticky, slimy body of a snake.

Mo Yi’s breathing stuttered. Confusion and bewilderment clouded his eyes.

He couldn’t tell where he was.

Was he still in the instance, or was he now in his nightmares?

It felt as though there was a soft marsh under his feet, using nature’s gravity to draw him down into itself, while the dense darkness overhead weighted down on his chest instead, causing every cell in him to wither from suffocation. It felt as though he was slowly sinking into a deep, deep dream he could never wake up from.

A dream that was serene. A dream that was calm.

This strange feeling penetrated his mind, its promise of peace tempting like honey, as it attempted to pull him under.

Mo Yi’s pupils grew unfocused. His eyelids fluttered, his long upper eyelashes slowly inching closer and closer towards his lower lashes.

Until he bit fiercely down on the tip of his tongue.

The strong taste of blood saturated his mouth. The waves of sharp pain and cloying scent of rust spreading between his lips and tongue instantly sharpened his drifting mind.

The hazy and muffled voice in his ear gradually increased in volume, becoming clearer, as if there was someone speaking beside him.

Mo Yi raised his head in a daze, searching for the source of the voice with a blurry gaze.

“—are you okay?”

The familiar low-pitched male voice was pleasantly magnetic, its timbre coolly vibrating through the air, yet there seemed to be some deep and turbulent emotions hidden in the coldness of its tone.

Mo Yi blinked. He belatedly realised he was still sitting in the corridor, with the only difference being that his legs were bent as though he was just about to stand up, and his momentary lapse has resulted in the door behind him to be pushed ajar.

The knocks grew louder, their intensity nearly making Mo Yi fall over.

He hurriedly pushed back with all his might. His palms were firmly pressed to the ground, the dirty and rough carpet chafing painfully against his skin, and managed to shut the door again with a burst of great strength.

Mo Yi inhaled sharply. A dense layer of cold sweat broke out on his back, and a sense of horror washed over him, making his whole body icy cold.

The dark corridor, the shaking door, and the faint singing in his ears have all finally returned.

He had carelessly let his guard down just now, and was nearly controlled by the singing voice.

…you really couldn’t relax even for a moment in this instance.

Mo Yi pressed the sharp and painful tip of his tongue against his palate. There was still a strong scent of rust in his mouth, permeating his oesophagus and nasal cavity. It, along with the waves of pain, made him feel more awake.

The male voice whispered in his ear again, “—are you okay?”

It was the voice of the Mist.

Mo Yi blinked, then replied after a slight pause, “…I’m okay.”

Only after speaking, did Mo Yi realise how hoarse his voice was, and the sudden burning pain materialising in his throat shocked even him as well.

Mo Yi hesitated for a short moment. “You can speak again?”

The other party chuckled. “Only after the rules of this instance no longer reject my existence.”

“So it isn’t rejecting you now?” Mo Yi cleared his throat, trying to regulate his voice.

“…It still is, so what I can tell you right now is very limited.”

The Mist’s voice was deep.

Mo Yi pursed his lips. He wasn’t too surprised. This game was like a control freak anyway. If they ever broke through the restrictions in the instances so easily, Mo Yi would suspect it was a trap instead.

The Mist spoke again, his tone becoming more urgent. “This hour is about to end. The monster was unable to get a sacrifice because of you, and was gearing up to make a final desperate attempt. I was worried you would be affected, so I spoke up.”

There was a soft smile in the voice.

“But I didn’t expect you to not require my help at all.”

Mo Yi frowned, yet before he could say anything, the Mist continued, “The strength of the monster of this hour is already waning and will no longer pose a threat. The one you need to be wary of, is the next one.”

There was a trace of solemnity in his cold voice.

“Buried in the ground on Sunday, Solomon’s last day.”

Mo Yi’s brows twitched, and he dropped his gaze to his wristwatch. There were only five minutes left in this hour.

The singing voice in the background had begun to weaken and become breathy. It was no longer possible to make out the previously crystal-clear lyrics.

And as the second and minute hands of the watch moved forward tick by tick, the sound gradually became softer and softer, weaker and weaker.

Then, finally, the last bar of the sad tune slowly dissipated in the air.

“My love, oh, come to me……”

The surroundings became silent again.

There was no longer a repetitive and monotonous knocking on the door behind him. The players seemed to have returned to their senses the very moment the singing voice disappeared.

Low groans and muffled conversations came from the other side of the door instead.

Mo Yi’s stiff and cold fingers trembled. He reached down to retrieve the torn letter and book, and stuffed them back into his bag.

In his dark eyes obscured under long lashes, all hints of relaxation were washed away by a deep solemnity.

There was only one last hour left…

【Buried on Sunday.

This is the end】

Buried on Sunday. This is the end of Solomon Grandy’s life.