“A perfect match…” Dr. Zhao let out a bitter laugh. “You mean the two of us?”
“Yes.” Han Yimo nodded. “As a team, we’d be unstoppable.”
“But I don’t want to kill anyone,” Dr. Zhao shook his head. “Not at all.”
“Exactly, that’s why we’re a perfect match.” Han Yimo placed a hand on Dr. Zhao’s shoulder. “You don’t have to kill—just **save people**. I’m the protagonist; let me handle the killings.”
“**Save people**…?” Dr. Zhao’s mind struggled to keep up with the lunatic’s logic, his thoughts momentarily jammed.
“You’re a **doctor**, so saving people is your role,” Han Yimo grinned.
“But our goal is to extract the eyeballs of the dead. What’s the point of me saving anyone…?”
“Who said you’re saving *them*?”
“Then what do you mean?”
“Once fear takes hold of me, the **Seven Black Swords** will tear through the sky to my side, slaughtering all who bear sin…”
“But *you and I* are both ‘sinners,’” Dr. Zhao pointed out.
“That’s exactly why I need your **‘Dissociation’**,” Han Yimo chuckled. “You’re my **‘lifesaving trump card’**—I can kill everyone alone, and all you have to do is save us when the **Seven Black Swords** turn on us. Even if my swords shatter, I can summon countless more. We’ll try again and again until everyone’s dead.”
Dr. Zhao sighed. “So you just want me to save the two of us…”
“Exactly. That way, you don’t have to lift a finger, yet the mission gets done. Why not?” Han Yimo winked playfully. “If you don’t want to join Chu Tianqiu, you can join me.”
Dr. Zhao found the idea utterly absurd. Just how delusional was Han Yimo to think he could rival Chu Tianqiu?
“I have nowhere else to go,” Dr. Zhao murmured. “Even though we resurrect every ten days, I still need food.”
“So you agree?” Han Yimo beamed. “Perfect timing—today’s the deadly **‘Pegasus Hour.’** We can wait here. Sooner or later, exhausted ‘participants’ will return, and that’s when the slaughter begins.”
“Wait, what—?”
“My bad, my bad,” Han Yimo corrected with a laugh. “That’s when *I* begin the slaughter.”
……
Chu Tianqiu left **”Paradise Gate”** and walked alone down the street, now crisscrossed with black threads.
The threads were slowly retracting into the sky, leaving behind streets littered with bisected corpses. Blood pooled everywhere, organs strewn across the pavement like macabre decorations.
Before coming to **”The End,”** Chu Tianqiu had never known human blood was *sticky*.
Every step he took squelched, as though treading on weak glue. With each lift of his foot, thin crimson strands stretched like threads.
He wanted to avoid it, but there was no escape.
Blood was everywhere—as if it were the land’s true nature.
Among the bisected participants, some **”madmen”** who’d wandered the streets had also stumbled into the hair-thin threads, effortlessly sliced apart without even realizing it.
They were mere sprinklers on the blood-soaked lawn of **”The End,”** silently spraying their life essence until they ran dry, making the ground even more viscous.
Days later, their corpses wouldn’t vanish into oblivion. Instead, they’d linger, adding to the suffocating stench, contributing their final offering.
This was an **”Heavenly Moment.”**
If these **”Heavenly Beings”** willed it, the entirety of **”The End”** could drown in corpses. The lives and deaths of thousands hinged on a single whim.
Even those who’d cheated their way through **”Earthly Games,”** relying on tactics and wits to scrape by, *dared not* claim they could survive an **”Heavenly Moment”** unscathed.
Because during an **”Heavenly Moment,”** there were no referees in sight. Countless perished alone—whether **”participants”** or **”madmen.”**
The only difference was how they were split: **participants** vertically, **madmen** horizontally.
“How utterly foolish…” Chu Tianqiu sighed, gazing at the bisected locals. “This has nothing to do with you, yet you throw your lives away one by one…”
He trudged forward, leaving behind dark-red footprints as the threads above retracted, painting a surreal, horrifying tableau.
Most were either dead or hiding in relief somewhere, yet one man walked calmly through the carnage—a lone boat sailing backward through a storm.
After an hour or so, Chu Tianqiu arrived at a rundown convenience store.
It, too, bore the marks of the threads, deep gashes scoring the walls as if some desperate participant had dashed inside.
After a moment’s thought, Chu Tianqiu pushed the door open. Finding the store empty, he stepped behind the counter and opened the door to the employee break room.
A skeletal woman sat on the bed, muttering incoherently to herself.
When the door creaked open, she slowly lifted her head, her eyes flickering faintly.
“I’m here to deliver your order,” Chu Tianqiu said with a smile.
“Deliver…?” The woman blinked, then shook her head. “No… You’re not the one… You’re different…”
His smile trembled with suppressed sorrow as he pulled a can from his pocket and placed it quietly on the bed.
“But what I’ve brought is the same,” he replied. “Is it my appearance that frightens you?”
“You…” She peered closely at him, her fractured mind struggling to reconcile the changes.
No glasses, hair slicked back, a crimson mark between his brows, and a strange necklace around his neck—nothing like the refined **”delivery man”** she remembered.
“This might be my last delivery,” Chu Tianqiu said, voice thick. “Once I walk out that door, I can’t come back.”
The woman nodded vaguely, her vacant expression unchanging. “You won’t… come again?”
“No.” He crouched, taking her frail hands in his. “Qiao Yun, the only way I can save you… is to let you die here.”
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