Chapter 336: Final Boss

The TV Tower's main gate is made of flesh and blood.

Not a metaphor.

That door truly breathes, its skin‑like surface swelling and shrinking in the sticky airflow; thick dark‑red liquid seeps from the cracks, and every few seconds it makes a "pop" sound, like something being peeled alive.

Su Ming stepped onto the steps, and the moment his shoe sole sank into the flesh, something coiled violently around his ankle.

He turned his head and glanced.

It was a finger.

A finger protruding from the step's gap, white to the point of blue, its nail warped, trembling as it tugged at his trouser leg, looking both as if begging for mercy and as if dragging him down.

Su Ming, expressionless, lifted his other foot and stepped down.

The finger snapped in two, lodged in the flesh gap and stayed still.

Liang Wen stood nearby, stared in that direction for several seconds, and swallowed.

"Am I… to go inside?"

"If you're scared, you can wait outside," Su Ming said.

"Who's scared!" Liang Wen straightened his back, pressed his knife with one hand, the other hand swiftly tucked the windcoat's collar, tightening his wrap, "I'm merely doing pre‑battle mental preparation!"

Jiang Yuan had already pushed the door open.

The instant the door opened, a wave of fetid heat slammed into them, carrying the stench of rotting flesh and iron rust, dense enough to make a person faint.

The tower's light source was phosphorescent insects crawling within the flesh walls, their blue‑green cold glow emanating from deep tissue, dyeing the whole space with a bizarre, gloomy hue.

The walls were moving.

Not the sway of wind, but a conscious writhing. Countless flesh tumors bulged from the walls, then burst, spitting out eyeballs half a head's diameter.

Those eyeballs lacked eyelids; their whites were overrun with swollen veins, pupils varied—some vertical slits, some crosses, some pure black—but they all performed the same act—

Staring dead‑on at the three humans.

"We came here to climb the tower," Liang Wen muttered low, "and it really is a literal… climb…"

He didn't finish the sentence.

Because in the darkness above, something began to fall down.

The first to drop was a legless torso, its two arms unnaturally long, almost dragging on the ground; each of its four fingers was a meter long, tips curved into hook‑shaped bone spikes, striking the floor with a crisp metallic clang. Immediately followed by a second, third, fourth… countless ones, densely raining from the dome, covering all the phosphorescence.

Jiang Yuan placed his hand on the card bag at his waist.

He didn't look back, and his voice, steady, uttered two words.

"Up."

Then the Spinal Sword slid from its sheath.

The blade was truly alive; its bone spikes buzzed the instant they touched outside air, as if waiting for this moment.

Jiang Yuan grasped the hilt with his right hand, while his left pressed the ground; a massive black fog surged from his feet, spreading throughout the tower.

The Shadow Legion, all units, launched.

Those black shapes had no fixed form, skittering between the flesh walls, leaping toward the descending monster horde. For a moment, the tower rang with the sounds of bones cracking and flesh tearing, blood foam splashing onto the walls, the wall‑mounted eyeballs trembling violently, some even bursting at the base, oozing gray‑white fluid.

"It's actually easy to cut," Liang Wen drew two knives, their glints forming a vague arc in the phosphorescence.

Su Ming said nothing.

With both hands slightly apart, two Space Cutting planes formed between his palms, thinner than the eye could barely perceive. A dense cluster of tentacles surged forward; he sidestepped half a step, palms pushing forward, the cutting planes slicing through.

The tentacles broke in mid‑air into segments, landing still writhing on the ground.

The three formed a wedge formation, advancing upward with almost brutish efficiency.

Walking up on flesh and blood—absurd to say, yet the fact stood. Each floor's structure bore no relation to a normal building; floor, ceiling, and walls had fused into a single living tissue. They weren't traversing architecture but the innards of a gigantic organism.

Upon reaching the middle levels, the monster density suddenly doubled.

Jiang Yuan looked up and saw an entire floor's space filled with objects. Those various Mutated Entities pressed upon each other, crowding between flesh walls and ceiling, their sheer number creating a strange visual pressure, like water long held back, waiting to burst.

He stepped back half a step and lowered his body.

"Butcher, up."

Jiang Yuan summoned the dead Rain Night Butcher from the shadows.

And handed the Boning Knife in his hand to the other.

The Rain Night Butcher, clutching the Boning Knife, let out a roar and charged forward.

The blade's light formed a net; the sliced arcs overlapped in the air, leaving a lattice‑like afterimage.

The monster horde descended from above, and the moment they slammed into this net, they began to disintegrate at an abnormal speed.

Su Ming covered the side, sealing the severed yet struggling remnants into a wrinkle with spatial force; then he clenched his fist, the wrinkle contracted, emitting a short sharp blast.

Jiang Yuan's Shadow Legion reached the edge of the top‑level entrance and began tearing the final blood‑flesh barrier.

That barrier was extremely thick, like the tower's most condensed core, its internal texture intricate, with something constantly pushing outward, resisting intrusion.

The Shadow's hand was repelled several times; Jiang Yuan gritted his teeth, twisted his wrist, and the Spinal Sword drove straight into the barrier, its bone spikes spreading along the blade, prying open a gap from within.

A muffled thud.

The barrier cracked.

The three stepped on the remnants and slipped inside.

Then, everything stopped.

Not gradually fading, but a literal stop—those monsters, the instant they entered this space, froze en masse, then collapsed slowly like melting wax, receding like the tide at the floor's edge.

The smell of blood vanished.

The fetid heat flow disappeared.

The walls were smooth, the floor clean; beneath their feet lay regular slabs of gray‑white marble, glowing coldly, the joints so fine they seemed carved.

Floor‑to‑ceiling windows stretched from the ground to the dome; outside was a blood‑red sky and the whole city swallowed by the Weird Domain, the Blood Moon hanging at the center, distant like a painting.

The air here is neutral.

There is no smell, no temperature, no aura that any living being should have.

Liang Wen took two steps forward, his footfalls echoing in the spacious hall; he turned to glance at the breach he had just crossed, the flesh barrier already resealed, quiet as if it had never been broken.

He sheathed his blade, rubbed his hands together, and lowered his voice.

"This... the sense of incongruity is a bit excessive, isn't it?"

Su Ming scanned the surroundings in a circle, saying nothing.

Jiang Yuan gripped the Spinal Sword, slowly straightening his body.

The hall was long, and something's outline could be seen in the depths.

In front of the floor-to-ceiling window, a silhouette.

A black, tailored suit, cut so flawlessly that no flaw could be found, the shoulder line perfectly straight as if measured with a ruler.

His hand rested on the tip of a cane, the eyeball set into the cane's top slowly turning, and across more than ten meters, it met Jiang Yuan's gaze directly.

Alive.

That eyeball is alive.

The three of them almost simultaneously halted their steps.

The Blood Moon light outside the window fell on the silhouette, tracing a clear outline of his profile.

A gray, stone‑textured Mask covered his face, exuding an effortlessly frivolous air.

He turned around.

The Mask hid his eyes, but what shone from the two black voids was not the color a human eye should have.

He slightly inclined his body, performing an exceedingly proper gentleman's bow, elegant as if not standing atop a living Weird, but rather entertaining guests at an expensive welcome banquet.

"Welcome, everyone, to the final stage."

He lifted his head, his voice cheerful.