Chapter 8: Life and Death

Joyce, as a gang member, considered trafficking Black Dream just a minor part of his means of making a living.

His main source of income was far more insidious. With his good looks, Joyce lured naïve young girls from the slums into bars, got them drunk, and hooked them on drugs until they were utterly dependent.

Ah, but what money could those impoverished girls possibly have? They could only keep borrowing from him to feed their addiction.

And when they couldn’t pay back their debts? No matter—his gang offered a full-service solution. The girls would undergo surgery to remove their lower bodies, have specialized sex-doll prosthetics installed, and become gang-controlled sex dolls, earning “income” every day to pay off the interest.

Just last night, Joyce had scored a big deal and, in high spirits, got roaring drunk with a few shady friends before stumbling home.

Somehow, in his drunken stupor, he found himself thrust into this bizarre Black Dream, from which there was no escape.

He vaguely remembered that this Black Dream, called “The Sea of Abyss,” was a new acquisition. Whether he had actually put on the dream synchronizer or inserted the Black Dream data disk while drunk, he had no recollection at all.

But judging by his current predicament, he probably—no, almost certainly—had done both.

Now, Joyce was filled with regret—was Black Dream really something people played with? Apart from rich kids seeking thrills, who in their right mind would sync up with this thing?

At this thought, Joyce anxiously glanced toward the mouth of the alley, only to see a horde of humanoid monsters roaming the ruined street. Terrified, he barely dared to look before pulling his head back in.

He stretched out his left hand—his once-transformable “Riot Force T-03” prosthetic, capable of changing into a firearm, had vanished. In this Black Dream, his left hand was all flesh and bone, not a trace of metal seam remaining.

“Damn it! This Black Dream is cursed—if I still had my prosthetic, those things outside wouldn’t be enough to stop me!”

Joyce spat fiercely—though that was mostly bravado. He clearly remembered how the previous apprentice had died—the terrifying strength, speed, and accuracy of the harpoons thrown by the town’s natives rivaled firearms.

Even if his prosthetic gun was still with him, he might manage to mow down a few natives, but in the end, he would still be strung up and burned alive.

This damned Black Dream gave the apprentices no chance to work together—or rather, even if they worked in perfect harmony, with so many enemies, there was no hope of breaking through.

Joyce hadn’t survived as a gang boss on loyalty or bravado, but on cunning and ruthlessness.

He already knew what to do next, how to fight his way to the church.

He picked up a stone from the alley, carefully peering out, silently praying that the other two dreamers were hiding in nearby alleys as well.

That way, he could throw the stone and draw the native monsters’ attention to the other dreamers, using them as bait to attract enemy fire and create a slim chance for his own escape.

“Let’s hope you’re not as useless as the last idiot—maybe you’ll even put up a decent fight.”

But the sky was overcast, the street dim, and with the rain falling in veils, he stared for a good while without spotting any other dreamers.

Suddenly, a shadow flashed down and landed before him, splashing water and ringing sharply as metal struck brick.

The noise was jarringly loud in the silent street.

Joyce stared in a daze at the metal box before him. Intricate carvings adorned its surface, and a corner of red silk peeked from a gap.

Where had this come from?

He’d barely been stunned for half a second before he snapped back to his senses. Rage and terror contorted his face; without a word, he turned and bolted.

“Damn it! I’m the bait now!”

“Who’s trying to screw me over? You’d better hope I don’t survive this—if I do, I’ll show you a fate worse than death!” Joyce screamed inside his mind.

Meanwhile, the native townsfolk on the street all turned at once toward the alley, where a frantic figure had just flashed by.

A guttural, suppressed roar rumbled in their throats, and then, in a black swarm, they charged for the alley’s entrance!

No sooner had Joyce rounded the corner than he heard a clang and the sound of shattered stone.

A black harpoon shot out, embedding most of its length in the brick wall behind him. The force of the throw was so terrifying that the remaining shaft outside the wall vibrated with a low hum.

His face went white with fear, adrenaline surging as he ran even faster for his life.

As he ran desperately, rain blurred his vision, wind howled in his ears, and the pounding, heavy footsteps and ragged breaths behind him drew ever closer.

Li Nanke saw everything happening on the street, and his heart sank.

Most of the natives, attracted by the commotion he’d set off, had charged into the alley in a frenzy, hunting down the dreamer.

But four natives still lingered near the fountain in the center of the street—two with harpoons, one with a pitchfork, one with a scythe.

They had turned at the sound, but seeing the majority of their companions give chase, they remained, pacing and wandering back and forth.

“There’s no time left to hesitate!”

He knew time was tight—the dreamer couldn’t keep the monsters’ attention for long. When that dreamer died, the horde would return.

By then, the perfect opportunity would be gone.

Li Nanke lobbed another stone across the street. The instant he drew the four natives’ attention, he darted from the alley into the rain.

As he expected, these four monsters were a cut above the rest—only distracted for a split second by the stone’s noise before regaining their focus.

But in that fleeting moment, Li Nanke’s sprint carried him past them, racing along the street’s edge toward the distant church.

At the same time, a lithe figure—like a pantheress—darted from another alley, shaking off several natives and sprinting for the church at full speed.

The rain-slick street was treacherous. Li Nanke had only covered a short distance before every hair on his body stood up, goosebumps prickling his skin.

He instinctively dropped and rolled.

A pitchfork stabbed into the ground at an angle, sending up shards of stone and water that stung Li Nanke’s cheek.

There was no time to think, let alone look back. Mud-soaked, he sprang up and kept running for his life.

With the threat of thrown weapons behind him, he couldn’t sprint in a straight line—he had to zigzag, weaving left and right at random to evade the flying harpoons that could come at any moment.

Those two remaining harpoons hung over him like the Sword of Damocles, constantly dragging down his straight-line speed.

Harsh running left him gasping for air, while the pressure and pain in his chest grew stronger and his pace began to slow.

He was still nearly a hundred meters from the church.

Through the misty rain, he could just make out a narrow gap in the church’s heavy iron doors, but the pounding footsteps behind him were drawing ever nearer!

At this rate, even if he dodged the harpoons, he’d be caught before reaching the church doors.

Li Nanke felt as if his lungs would burst: “Just a little more—hold on, just a little faster!”

The footsteps behind him pressed closer and closer, a death knell at his heels.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure—running even faster than him, overtaking him from the other side of the street, heading for the church at even greater speed.

The woman glanced his way as she sprinted, her gaze cold and sharp, filled with indifference.

She’d chosen to dash out at this moment because someone else had drawn the monsters’ attention first—and now, this was her sole chance at survival.

She didn’t need to outrun the monsters—just to outrun the other dreamers from the monastery.

Countless thoughts flashed through Li Nanke’s mind in that moment.

Life and death hung in the balance of a single decision.

He drew his gun in a heartbeat.

Bang!

Time seemed to freeze.

The muzzle flared with explosive light.

The rifling gave the bullet a fierce spin, and at a velocity of 190 meters per second it tore through the air, trailing ripples in its wake.

The bullet sliced through the falling rain, across the ruined street, tracing a perfect line of death.

As it swept across the street, the contorted face of his pursuer was clear, and the woman’s eyes widened with terror.

A spray of blood burst from her knee as she sprinted.

She crashed to the ground with a despairing scream.

Within two seconds, the four native monsters had changed targets, pouncing on her and surrounding her completely.

In an instant, blood gushed forth like a waterfall, mixing with the rain to stain the street red.

The woman’s dying screams and curses did nothing to slow Li Nanke; if anything, they spurred him to run even faster into the distance.