Oliver thought that what was waiting for him would be burning or severe pain of limb tearing, but unexpectedly, no pain of any kind appeared in the first place. As if being swallowed into the belly of a giant beast, the hot and humid aura instantly enveloped him.

The moment Oliver realized that he was falling, the hard armor hit something slippery. His feet touched the ground first, and he almost instinctively made a cushioned roll so that the bones would not break under the impact.

Heavy armor is undoubtedly a burden at the moment, Oliver took a lot of effort to stand up from the overly soft "ground", and was extremely vigilant about this abnormal stability. His brain seemed to have frozen in an abnormally high fever, and thinking had become a particularly difficult thing. He didn't dare to open his mouth to breathe, for fear that the thick liquid air would cause him to vomit.

He's still alive, but this time Oliver isn't happy about it.

Endless exhaustion and sadness overwhelmed him. One can at a certain moment muster up the courage to take a step and throw oneself from the heights. But when that brief moment has passed, it becomes especially difficult to give up again.

He has reached the limit, and his will is like a dead tree that has been eaten by worms, and it may collapse at any time.

pus and blood, a fleshy wrist with a sharp end shrank back. It was as thin as a child's arm, as if several undeveloped arms were intertwined.

It only had time to pierce the side of his neck and scrape a shallow layer of flesh.

The burning pain followed. Oliver hadn't had time to think about what those were, and along with the inexplicable babble, more fleshy wrists came over from one side. He could only chop those things mechanically, trying his best to ignore the tiny screams coming from the darkness. As the attacks of flesh wrists became more and more intensive, he subconsciously retreated to the place where flesh wrists were scarce, and almost stepped on the air.

It was getting hotter and hotter, and his already extremely dehydrated body was sweating. Oliver began to feel suffocation, not sure if it was simply the temperature rise or the loss of air. He just felt like he was going to be roasted to death here.

But for some reason, the temperature suddenly dropped a little at a certain moment, and the air was a little fresh. The cool air like a key to heaven was blowing from a certain direction, and then quickly dissipated.

After he squeezed out another wave of attacks, Oliver bought himself time to look at the environment. He stepped back vigilantly, leaning in the direction of the breath that had just been blown.

Under the weak light, he finally saw the space where he was. Perhaps this was what Randy called a "furnace of flesh"—the top of the semicircle shrouded in darkness, and he was stepping on a hole-strewn, slightly quivering platform of flesh.

It looks like a fleshy plate with countless holes poked, or some kind of diseased and proliferating organ. Dense fleshy wrists protruded from the bottomless hole, constantly attacking all living things. And beyond the slightly raised edge is a void, from which there is a sour chewing sound and whispering.

A little further away seems to be the furnace wall of the furnace, it is so far apart that Oliver can only make out a little twisting pattern in the dark. Immediately after, his attention was drawn to the light source—

Phosphorescent sarcomas slid around on the filaments that covered the furnace, like dew moving along spider silk. Each sarcoma illuminates a face of terror or despair.

These things locate them.

Yes, he's not alone here. Oliver had thought that Randy's "waiting for you down there" was referring to dead bodies, but things were much worse than that—the people he was in the same room with, they were all still alive.

No, most of them are still alive.

The people around him were being entangled in flesh wrists, Oliver subconsciously wanted to split those strange and malicious flesh, but his legs were sinking like lead - he didn't have time to lift As soon as his feet came, his fleshy wrists suddenly stretched, pulling the man away from the place and pressing him towards the furnace wall.

He failed to save himself, and this time he did not have time to save the other party.

The continuously rising temperature dropped again, and the sarcoma that illuminated the man suddenly went out. I don't know if it was his illusion, but the furnace wall seemed to be getting closer.

And people subconsciously gather in one direction.

Oliver was close enough now that he could see the thing--in the middle of the fleshy ring full of blood vessels and mucus, there was a narrow table the size of two books side by side. It looked hard and gleaming white, from where the relieving coolness and fresh air was blowing, and then dissipated quickly.

A temptation.

Oliver's heart was cold, he probably guessed the gatekeeper's plan, if he guessed correctly—

"Although you are the lowest ants, you still have a chance."

The distant voice came from nowhere.

"Only one person can survive, and those who survive can go directly to the mobile barracks. We still cherish talents, don't believe the so-called no survivors."

Lies.

Oliver thought numbly, this situation is not right. If it's just to maintain the furnace with living losers, they don't need to arrange a fight with Randy, and they don't need to wait for him to fall to start it all. After all, Randy must not be as stubborn as himself, and he will definitely not hesitate to kill people. No matter how he looks at it, the use value is higher than him.

In the situation just now, he probably killed Randy on the spot, but when he was about to shoot, the goalkeeper did not have a special reaction. But if he said he had received special treatment, Randy's first few attacks could definitely kill him, and the gatekeeper still didn't respond.

Instead, when he conceded and Randy had another chance to kill him, the keeper threw him into the furnace.

It's like... they're sure he'll win, and they're waiting for him to concede.

Why? Oliver thought hard, this is not the treatment of the so-called "waste". The current situation is more like a stage set in advance. More sinister, more cruel.

But his mind was running slowly.

Is this what they want? Oliver looked at the sword in his hand. He was tired, really very tired. Just want to rest in peace. I don't want to think anymore, I don't want to persist.

On the other hand, the gatekeepers are encouraging people to devour each other in desperation. They recognized that people would fight each other for the only remaining piece of peace, until there was only one left.

If that's what the gatekeepers want, they're almost there. He did feel wronged, confused, and hopeless. Everything in front of him was tiresome—if the situation continued to deteriorate, if those people attacked him again. He would probably really pick up the sword, use his instinct to fight a **** path, and then wait for his death in relative comfort.

But he couldn't figure out what the other party wanted out of it.

The temperature is getting hotter and the air seems to be boiling. The thick armor seemed to have become a torture tool, and the water in Oliver's body was almost evaporated to dryness. The young knight twitched the corners of his mouth, but failed to laugh. He doesn't know if the gatekeeper is watching, if he wants him to break everything, if he wants him to kill - or whatever.

Then maybe he can really give up and use the quietest way. Like his father, he chose to end before the worst came.

Choose a dignified death as the last resistance.

The fleshy wrist reached Oliver's neck again, this time he didn't dodge it. Oliver let go of all his strength and tried to hit the collar—unsurprisingly, the pain from the collar brought him to one knee.

As he thought, no miracle happened.

This is indeed the end. An embarrassing, painful, silent death. His vision gradually blurred, and Oliver simply closed his eyes.

He still has a lot of things he wants to do, and a lot of things he wants to say. But he had time to leave the last message, which made the imminent death not so difficult.

Not true.

Since people's death can bring a moment of stability, why is the temperature of the air still rising?

The pain of the wrist rubbing against the skin did not strike.

Oliver opened his eyes with difficulty, trying to look around. In the weak and blurred vision, those bright lights are still flickering. His roommates were very quiet, watching him from the dark. Just like the first day, they continued to observe patiently, like insects hiding in dark crevices.

No one moved, no one rushed to the only oasis, no one killed each other.

"Yuri Killian," said a voice, which was close and unexpectedly familiar.

The big man using the meteor hammer threw the broken fleshy wrist on the ground and spat hard in the hotter air. "I still hate you, boy. I still can't figure out why you didn't do it...but it doesn't matter."

"It's boring at this point," he said. "But I do have a name, Yuri Killian."

"I have to be more like a man than your little white face." He raised his head and ripped his throat. "Fuck. You, the gatekeeper—want me to be obedient till the end? A **** dream!"

He let out a shrill, angry laugh: "My name is Yuri Killian! I like big-ass women in Willard's—"

The big man kicked Oliver's knee. Oliver, who was about to be dragged off the platform by his fleshy wrist, staggered and fell forward. The opponent's kick was so hard that it almost exhausted his last physical strength. Oliver nearly fainted, holding the slippery flesh in his hands. And the sturdy man walked carelessly to the edge of the raised platform of flesh and blood.

Then jump down.

Seconds later, the sarcoid that followed him went out.

Angry.

"Samantha Gru." After a long silence, a trembling female voice came out of the darkness, "I'm just a refugee, I...I don't like anything, I'm afraid. I don't want to. Killed by you, but I also... I don't want to kill, I don't like to kill, I don't like..."

She shook her head, her lower lip bitten to a **** mess. The nervous woman glanced at Oliver.

"I don't like it!" she screamed, then jumped off.

Fear.

"Nelle Nicole. Garland National, POW. I'm sure I won't live to the end...but I want to go home. I really do."

Desperate.

"Hackett Dalton. They say the only people out here are the dead and murderers, so you better get out of here, Ramon... your name is Ramon?" The man screamed, "Let them see!"

Hate.

People take a step and throw themselves into the dark. Oliver wanted to stand up and wanted to say something, but his eyesight was rapidly weakening away from him, and he could only see dim firelight.

Lights are dwindling, one after another.

He wanted to shout something, but his throat couldn't make it. Do something, he thought, he couldn't take it. At least get up first...at least first...

"Philip Sprott, **** the world."

"Lilyn...only Lilyn, I like blue."

…

There are only two lights left.

Oliver inserted a sword into his right calf, hoping that the pain would keep him awake. It can't be like this, he thought dimly, he had already decided to escape, but was nailed into the bitter reality.

He can't afford it.

A pair of feet appeared in front of him, Oliver raised his head and tried to see the other's face.

"I don't want to die," said the man tremblingly, "I'm afraid, I don't want to die!"

"...but you know what? Just, for a little while, I and you are completely equal."

Oliver swallowed the air, and the low figure approached suddenly. It's just that it wasn't an attack, but a trembling embrace.

"Micah Draper," said the mole-like man, his voice getting weaker. "I'm sure I'll regret it, it's just silly. How, how could I really die for a bottle of perfume? But..."

"Thank you for... trying to save me."

There is only one light left.

Oliver knelt blankly on the empty platform, he wanted to die, weak enough to die at any time. The blur in front of me fluctuated a little, as if there was fluid running down the skin.

That's it. He can still cry.

Yes, Father.

Oliver inserted the sword into the flesh, dragged his body, and struggled to the middle of the empty platform. He could recover some strength there, and even though it might all be a lie, a teasing, he could live an extra second.

Those who are defined as mean and worthless. Evils that are deemed impossible to change. They finally chose to resist at the last moment, maybe they were not at all out of kindness, but at least for that short moment...

No.

Maybe there is no such definition as "good" and "bad", people are just choosing. He ignores the fact that everyone is constantly choosing, to give or to take, and the price they bring.

It is not a pre-defined "role" of good and evil, but a constantly changing "state" interwoven by one choice. And in that quiet, time when no choice is needed...they are just "people".

chaotic, selfish and free.

He ended up saving no one. He was the one saved by the hero.

As of now, it seems that he is not qualified to die easily.

…It went well. The test area management thought so.

Everything went well beyond imagination, the life reaction kept dying, and in the end only one remained. And under the continuous cruel impact, the weak life response did not disappear.

It must be Ramon, who finally made his move. This development is so perfect that the management of the test area trembles. Now the opponent's spirit should be fragmented. It is only necessary to adjust the array of negative emotions to the highest value after the impact—

"Success!" A scream full of disbelief, "God, the power shock is complete! ... Ramon is not dead!"

"The power of the magic circle is adjusted to the maximum, and the emotional readings are monitored in real time." The glasses manager waved his hand, and the light joy lifted him up. He seemed to be drunk, and the air was in the air. There is an astonishing sense of happiness. "Now we can bet, and guess what, Della, what form will the creation take? Huge chunks of meat, or—"

"You are so optimistic." The middle-aged voice came. "Take a good look at the mood readings."

The glasses manager glanced casually, then took off the glasses in disbelief, wiped them, and put them on again. He woke up instantly from his slightly drunken happiness, and fell into an ice cave.

"Why is his consciousness still there?!"

His cold sweat penetrated the fabric behind him for a moment, because in the next second, the researcher himself came to the conclusion—

There is no negative emotion that can be expanded, then the will naturally cannot be destroyed.

No anger, no fear, no despair, no hatred.

There is only one emotion, and its reading fills the upper limit of the counter. Emotions that are rare here, they usually hardly pay attention to that column—

Sad.

"Destroy the Flesh Forge." The glasses manager gave a trembling order, "I will immediately activate the Bone Jade Bomb to completely destroy the Flesh Forge! Give me the maximum defense!"

They couldn't control him, no, it—they weren't sure if there was any sanity in the thing that survived. Although protective measures have been taken in advance, the power of the bone jade is still enough to blast most of the withered castle.

They themselves may not survive, but that's not the point.

Management gritted his teeth and quickly confirmed the complicated activation spell. When he finished the last rune, there was even a kind of despairing pleasure in his heart. That thing has just been born, and it is estimated that it will not control its power very much. To destroy it, only now—

Yes, they have successfully created a creature outside the law, even if it only exists for a short time, this is undoubtedly a great breakthrough. Using the most insignificant part of human beings, they have produced miracles beyond the truth.

Bone jade bomb. The bomb will explode in the next instant, and the rich abyss magic will devour all living things.

Then as a pioneer, even if you die at this time...

One minute.

Two minutes.

Five minutes.

Everything remains quiet.

"What's the matter, why didn't it explode?!"

"No..." The red-robed old man swallowed hard, "It exploded."

"Is it Ramon—"

"No." The middle-aged man in the stack of books stood up and showed an intriguing smile. The magic pressure over there is too strong, and the surveillance bugs can't approach, but he will never get that feeling wrong. "It's abyss magic."

And this piece of bone jade is especially huge, like the head of a baby. Layers of magic circles revolved around it, and countless magic stones were precisely inlaid on it.

It did explode. It's just that after the explosion spread out by one centimeter, it dissipated like a cloud of smoke.

Nemo patted the ashes in the palm of his hand, and he stood there quietly for a few seconds.

"Thank you both." Nemo said softly, bowing to the strange men and women who led the way. His voice was very calm, but his body trembled uncontrollably. "Next, please stay away from here, the farther the better."

"Ramon is still in the furnace, the thing in front of you." The tall man subconsciously moved away from the black-haired youth, and the scars on his face looked a bit hideous. "You really don't—"

"No. He doesn't need my help...at least not now."

The black furnace reaches into the sky, and the edge is coiled with spiral steps, so wide that the edge cannot be seen at a glance. And now it's split in two, and the top half slides diagonally to one side. Grey mist poured out of the gap and enveloped the furnace.

In the next instant it ceased to exist, leaving no trace.

(m..=)