Chapter 442: Mask · Zheng Hang?!!

In the mirror's reflection, the contours of facial features gradually emerged, every line exuding an indescribable gloom.

The eye sockets were deeply sunken; it was impossible to tell what kind of monster it was, only vaguely visible that there wasn't a shred of white in those eyes, all a dead, silent black, like two solidified eternal nights, devouring all hope and light.

Immediately after, asphalt-textured black liquid continued to surge vertically, constantly extending upward, like slime from the abyss.

The black liquid gradually piled up, rose into mounds, and actually slowly outlined a straight shoulder line, long sleeves, finally condensing into a pitch-black... suit?

The suit's lines gradually became clear in the mirror, every stitch and thread seemingly woven from darkness, exuding an evil yet captivating elegant aura.

Luo Ji stared blankly for a moment, almost suspecting his eyes had deceived him.

His fingers trembled slightly, the mirror surface almost slipping from his palm.

However, the image was clearly reflected in the mirror, undeniable.

Then, he saw the suit rise silently, the fabric seeming to have gained its own consciousness, constantly wriggling, extending, as if a person was being slowly pinched into existence inside the suit.

First broad shoulders, then a long torso, finally straight legs.

The entire process was terrifyingly quiet, no "drip" sound of liquid flowing, because that was merely a visual effect; in reality, it was still shadow.

And shadow, from the moment of its birth, has no sound.

This is the Curse of the Evil Sacrifice, and also science.

This is a monster, yet also a human form!

Cui Cui only felt her throat dry and rough as if scorched by fire, the whole person stunned like a wooden chicken.

She extended a trembling hand, fingertips pointing straight at the strange outline slowly rising behind Zuo Bai, her voice carrying irrepressible horror:

"Another... another monster! A fourth monster?!!"

One, one, and another one, endless, right? What's the meaning, is the underground sewer a monster's home?

Zhang Liyou stared fixedly, an extremely ominous premonition rising in her heart; her gaze moved away from behind Zuo Bai, dead set on Feng Yuhuai.

Her heart gave a sudden sinking thump.

Only to see the heavy despair and fear originally on Feng Yuhuai's face now dissipating much like a receding tide, replaced by a kind of...

It was a complex emotion she had never seen before, and fundamentally could not precisely describe in words.

In that emotion, there was less fear, more anger, and even a thread of... hope at seeing the light?

A thought suddenly surfaced in Zhang Liyou's heart:

"Feng Yuhuai seems to recognize the monster that came out last? Could this monster be..."

Her train of thought had not yet fully unfolded when the scene before her verified her unease.

Only to see the humanoid monster emerging from the shadow suddenly have its palm strangely deform and twist, in the blink of an eye actually transforming into a pitch-black sharp short blade, the blade edge gleaming with cold, biting light.

That short blade was like a bolt of black lightning, stabbing straight at Zuo Bai's back with ruthless force.

Its movement was fast beyond imagination, almost impossible to track its trajectory, and the surrounding air didn't have a shred of airflow being stirred, as if this fatal strike came from another silent dimensional space.

This takes long to tell, but in reality, from the emergence of that strange smiling face in the shadow, to the monster rising and condensing into a human outline, to the brandishing of the blade for a backstab, there was only a fleeting instant.

Time seemed infinitely compressed in this instant, a series of actions already completed.

And in Zuo Bai's perspective, he merely stood in place, continuously turning around and turning back, his brain still operating at high speed, trying to figure out what exactly was unscientific about all this before his eyes.

However, before he could get an answer, a bloodstained black blade directly protruded from his chest.

The blade was pitch-black like ink, yet covered in bright red bloodstains, blood gushing forth, instantly dyeing his clothes red.

That blood dripped along the blade tip, splashing tiny ripples in the sewage.

And even until this moment, Zuo Bai hadn't heard even half a sound; even with his chest pierced by the black blade, he heard no sound of flesh being torn.

Everything was terrifyingly quiet.

Zuo Bai's pupils suddenly constricted, a trace of disbelief flashing in the gaze behind his lenses.

He slowly lowered his head, gaze falling straight on that black blade protruding from his chest.

On the blade tip, a piece of dark red minced flesh residue swayed, about to fall.

Relying on advanced scientific literacy and deep human anatomy knowledge, Zuo Bai immediately identified this piece of minced flesh as belonging to his own left atrial valve.

Zuo Bai's gaze slowly swept past that cold sharp blade, as if traversing layers of mist, finally landing on the ripple-patterned sewage dyed red by blood beneath his feet.

Just then, his face suddenly bloomed with an excited smile of solving a riddle, that smile appearing both mad and captivating against the backdrop of blood.

"So that's it, it drilled out from the shadow under my feet!"

Zuo Bai lifted his foot and stepped forward, his chest pulling forward along the black blade, gushing spurting blood dyeing his white clothes ever more vivid, like a blooming blood flower.

His movements were calm and composed, as if feeling not a shred of pain.

Simultaneously, he turned his head to look behind. This time, he didn't turn his body, only turned his neck, so the shadow still remained behind him.

And on that narrow shadow, a person was conspicuously standing.

That person wore a pitch-black crisp suit, tailoring exquisite as if custom-made, a few playing cards lined in the chest pocket, vague patterns faintly visible on the card faces.

A light cloak draped over his shoulders, swaying slightly with the wind, a pair of gold-rimmed glasses on a cold face, the pupils behind the lenses terrifyingly pitch-black.

One hand hung naturally, the other strangely transforming into a pitch-black blade shape, the blade edge still hanging with dark red bloodstains.

"So it's you!"

The corner of Zuo Bai's mouth curved up slightly, carrying a trace of playful amusement, slowly extending a hand, gently wiping the blood on his chest.

The moment his fingernails contacted the fresh blood, they actually silently melted away, turning into a pool of silver liquid shimmering with faint light.

In no more than a blink, the silver liquid filled the open blade wound, drawing a tattoo shape identical to the one on Feng Yuhuai's face.

The God's Lock Pattern, not only able to lock the Curse of the Evil Sacrifice's erosion, can equally lock the spread of death.

Zuo Bai's face had not a shred of annoyance at being ambushed, instead brimming with incomparable happiness, as if the person behind him was an old friend reunited after long separation.

Zuo Bai's eyes narrowed slightly into slits, smiling broadly:

"My original plan was to capture Feng Yuhuai, then lure you to the door. Didn't expect you'd directly help me skip that step, directly appear; this is truly an unexpected delight!"

Zuo Bai paused slightly, speaking in a rather polite and cultivated tone:

"So, should I call you 【Mask】, or should I call you... Zheng Hang?"

End of Chapter