Doomsday Wonderland

Chapter 1511: True Soul Torture

Edgar Allan Poe slowly descended the slope, looking at the bare grey concrete landscape, really wanting to curse someone out. This whole valley required careful design and adjustment to finally present that Poe-like scenery; now he had to redo everything bit by bit. How was it different from having your house blown down by a storm and having to rebuild it yourself?

If he gave up the visual presentation in the style of Edgar Allan Poe, it would be much easier for him. After all, he had never really read Poe\'s works, only the first two pages of The Fall of the House of Usher, one of which was an illustration. But he knew Poe\'s style was superior to Stephen King\'s – too bad he never saw the illustrations of Dante\'s Divine Comedy, or else he would certainly have gone for that.

Lost in thought as he descended the slope, it was not until he was almost back at the door to his room that he suddenly realized that the woman named Lin Sanjiu hadn\'t taken the corpse with her – naturally, who would want to move a corpse?

The body of the young girl still lay as it had in death, by the room\'s door; she was looking in Edgar Allan Poe\'s direction, eyes wide open with an expression of expectation and excitement forever frozen in her black pupils.

Edgar Allan Poe stood far away, turning around in frustration before finally stomping over, using his fingertips to grab the leg of the corpse, and dragging her away from the door. He didn\'t know where to dispose of the body, so he just dragged it about ten meters away and threw it in the middle of the hall. Someone would take care of it here, right? Speaking of which, who exactly was in charge of maintaining this new game launch space? Were they human?

Edgar Allan Poe wiped his hand on his trousers, having touched the corpse\'s leg, then opened the door wide, scanning the room with his eyes. After removing the mountainous texts, it had returned to a large, empty room. Everything seemed normal, but just as he was about to step inside, he suddenly heard a soft rustling sound behind him.

It sounded like the friction of fabric on the floor.

Edgar Allan Poe slowly turned his head, but in the empty hall, there was no one except him and the female corpse. His eyes fell on the corpse, meeting her gaze. For a moment, he couldn\'t remember the direction he had left her facing when he\'d dragged her away.

Stepping through the doorway, the rustling sound followed him again, like a snake in the grass. Edgar Allan Poe\'s scalp tingled, and he quickly turned around—just in time to see the female corpse propping herself up with her hands, her neck limp, her head unsupported, as if she was trying to get up.

Her lips never parted, yet her voice leaked slowly from her throat as she tilted her chin toward the ceiling and asked, "Why did you harm me?"

A scream Edgar Allan Poe didn\'t understand erupted from his mouth.

He flashed into the room and tried to pull the door closed behind him but found that it wouldn\'t move no matter how he pulled. His hair stood on end as he turned his head and his eyes fell on the palm-length crack in the door. Through the crack, a white face tinged with the pallor of death, like a pale moon slowly rising above the horizon, came into his view.

The female corpse\'s hand was still outside, in a place he couldn\'t see, probably clutching the doorknob tightly.

"Why?" she asked again.

Her head was lolling to one side, and her eyes seemed to have rolled into the corners, revealing a large patch of bloodshot veins. As she spoke, her lips, throat, and chest remained still. Looking further down, her feet were splayed out at a hair-raising angle, lying on the ground.

No one could be alive in this state.

Edgar Allan Poe realized that he had somehow fallen to a seated position. "No, it\'s not my fault," he said, clutching his coat and repeatedly reminding himself that he had protective text. "You didn\'t read the rules properly."

The female corpse slowly began to push a shoulder through the crack in the door, as if she was trying to squeeze inside.

"I was going to warn you!" Edgar Allan Poe exclaimed. "It was Master Zhang... Master Zhang encouraged you to continue, remember? I was just about to explain to you... But Master Zhang has been here the longest. I heard he\'s almost reached the limit; he must want to stay a bit longer."

The female corpse stopped moving. She seemed to want to straighten her head, but with a slight movement, it lolled to the other side like a seesaw. Edgar Allan Poe shivered and almost bit his tongue, asking, "You... you\'re not really dead, are you? Could it be... Ah, I understand now. There must be some protection for game makers here that we don\'t know about... So, you died and came back to life?"

"Limit?" The female corpse\'s eyes were not looking at him but seemed to be fixed on his feet, her voice muffled and unclear. "What limit?"

She not only looked like a zombie, but her brain and thinking seemed to have been damaged by her death.

Although Edgar Allan Poe had convinced himself that she was not dead and felt a little more secure, he still had to muster the courage to answer, "Yes, you\'re new here, so you may not know many things. In the case of a full house at the new game launch conference, each of us creators can only stay here for up to ten months... Only when there are fewer people can our time to create games here possibly be extended. Until new members are brought in, and the group of nine is once again filled... there are some insane people who want to keep a vacancy forever so they can stay a few more days."