Chapter 20

Horne’s footsteps suddenly halted, then he continued forward as if nothing had happened. His icy tone carried no fluctuation: “No need to tell me.”

“But I want you to know.” Moroz stubbornly explained.

Horne remained utterly unmoved: “Oh, thanks.”

This time, Moroz grew puzzled and pressed: “Why is it that when I honestly reveal my mission, you stop bullying me?”

Horne was speechless. He had never intended to bully anyone in the first place; it was merely a preemptive check for dangers. Though that was his thinking, his response remained cold and hard: “If you kill me, the cooperation mission fails, and there are no winners. At least until we gather all the memories, I’m safe.”

Moroz clapped his hands: “How clever.”

As they spoke, the thick fog loomed before them. Horne took a deep breath, preparing to enter alone, but his arm was suddenly grabbed.

Horne frowned and looked at the person holding him: “What’s wrong?”

Moroz blinked at him: “Brother, going through the fog is scary. I’m a bit afraid. Can I hold your hand while we cross?”

Horne: “……Whatever.”

38 hours remaining.

The thick fog engulfed the two figures. They endured the familiar agony once more, but Horne soon noticed that the hand gripping his never let go during the crossing. And as he stepped into the new timeline with one foot, the hand’s owner followed right behind.

It seemed that as long as they held onto each other, the fog wouldn’t send them to different timelines.

On the new Central Avenue, transparent jelly ghosts visibly increased in number. The moment the two appeared at the city gate, those spirits stirred and began moving toward them, faster than in the previous timeline.

Horne immediately whispered: “We need to hurry.”

“Okay.”

Their houses were right next door, so they rushed inside together, slammed the door shut, and blocked the ghosts outside.

Horne went straight to the diary as if it were routine.

[2049.12.1] The experiment hasn’t been finalized yet. Already went with Victor to the market to find suitable lab rats today; he wasn’t satisfied with several we looked at.

[2049.12.12] The team has grown larger.

“Bang.” The door shut behind him. Horne turned to see that Moroz had come in.

“December 2049, I sent Victor to find lab rats.”

This connected with his diary, but Horne didn’t quite understand: “Aren’t you an investor? Why interfere with this?”

“The approvals came through long ago. I want him to start work quickly. I invested, so wanting returns sooner is normal, right? My role is a businessman.”

“Mm.” Horne closed the diary and tossed it aside, then turned to head out. “Next timeline.”

They needed to speed up.

However, the instant Horne’s hand touched the doorknob, a horrific scream echoed from the street.

The two exchanged a glance, and Horne quickly yanked the door open. The scene on the street left them both stunned.

A human figure had a bell ghost coiled around him. The sludge clung to his body like thick, sticky ooze, seeping into him relentlessly.

“Ah—help!!” He screamed in agony, collapsing into madness as he ran wildly down the street, desperately trying to shake off the ghost’s assault. But no matter what, he couldn’t shake it off. His voice tore through the air; the moment he opened his mouth, the sticky mass wormed inside. Finally, he rolled on the ground in excruciating pain.

Moroz tilted his head and said meaningfully: “This guy looks just like Gao Qie, the AI guy.”

It seemed Gao Qie’s hope of being the first through the city gate to win the game had fallen through.

Horne didn’t hesitate at all. He took one step forward but was immediately blocked by Moroz: “Brother, no need to bother with him. He won’t die.”

Horne clenched his fists, his breathing quickening as his gaze fixed on the man writhing in agony on the street.

Gao Qie was besieged to the point of no longer resembling a human. From within that sticky mass, his voice ripped through: “Sorry! Sorry, ugh—I just wanted you to look after me, aaah! Sorry! I raised you, raised you to adulthood, I just wanted you to look after me later—!! Look after your little brother!!”

Horne suddenly furrowed his brow. What was he saying? This didn’t sound like game events; it seemed personal.

Moroz shrugged indifferently: “That’s why I just told you not to touch that ghost.” He immediately added urgently, “The Holographic Game’s death mechanics don’t trigger inside the game—usually only outside. But these things look bad news at first glance; better not touch them if you can avoid it.”

Gao Qie’s screams echoed down the entire street. Eventually, he was too pained to cry out, unable to roll anymore, curling into a trembling, whimpering ball.

The whole process lasted about ten minutes. The soft sludge gradually slid off him, reforming into its initial jelly ghost state. Gao Qie bore no traces of corruption, save for the wrinkles in his clothes from rolling.

He lay curled on the ground, shivering, his pale lips mumbling broken syllables, eyes blankly staring at nothing, looking utterly wretched.

Horne took a deep breath and stepped out, striding quickly toward Gao Qie.

“Brother?” Moroz exclaimed in shock.

The moment Horne emerged, several ghosts on the street swiftly converged on him. He reached the street’s center, grabbed Gao Qie’s arm, and hauled him up entirely.

Gao Qie’s legs dragged on the ground, scraping against it as Horne pulled him all the way back to his house.

Gao Qie lay on the wooden floor, still mumbling unconsciously. Horne sat on a chair, one hand on the backrest, coldly watching him.

Moroz stood beside Horne, his expression displeased: “Why’d you drag him in here?”

Horne replied icily: “I need information.”

Moroz pressed his lips together and fell silent.

Fortunately, Gao Qie soon regained consciousness. He dazedly stood up, patted his filthy clothes, clutched his chest—still shaken from the ordeal—but quickly fell into another fear. His lean body trembled as he muttered: “I’m done for. I forgot.”

“What?” Horne frowned.

“I…” Gao Qie spat out a broken word, then his expression turned horrified. “I forgot my clue.”

Horne felt a headache coming on.

Being entangled by a bell ghost caused one to lose previously searched memories.

Horne was immensely irritated right then. He had no idea how much longer this game would drag on.

37 hours until the hunt, 23 hours until the game’s official end time.

Progress was excruciatingly slow.

Seeing Horne’s furrowed brow, Moroz walked over to Gao Qie and said unhappily: “Then go get this timeline’s clue now.”

At those words, Gao Qie shuddered violently. He clutched his head and shouted: “No! I don’t want to go out! I don’t want to, no!” The recent trauma had left too deep a shadow; he refused to go through it again.

Horne sat up straight, silent, his fingers curling slightly before gradually clenching into a fist.

The room hung under heavy pressure, the overhead light dimming further, flickering with a “sizzle” before extinguishing.

Moroz grabbed Gao Qie, flung open the door, and dragged him outside: “I’ll go with you.”

“I don’t want to go out! Help!!” Gao Qie screamed again, but for some reason, he couldn’t resist the boy’s strength and was forcibly hauled out.

Horne listened as the screams faded, soon swallowed by the slam of another door nearby.

Gao Qie was just a late-joining AI expert, mostly monitoring systems. In 2049, he didn’t even have any information.

The three hurried out of the houses and headed for the fog at the city gate. Horne hesitated for a moment, not wanting physical contact with Gao Qie. In those few seconds of hesitation, several ghosts from behind caught up.

Moroz immediately darted between them and urgently told Horne: “Don’t touch him. I’ll pull him; you hold my hand, brother.”

Horne said nothing but acquiesced, letting Moroz hold his hand as they entered the fog.

The sixth return to the starting point.

This time was different from before. The instant they emerged from the fog, at least ten jelly ghosts on the street swiftly surrounded them, no longer lumbering slowly.

All three paled. Horne shouted lowly: “Run!”

They bolted toward their respective houses like mad. Whether due to their numbers or the timeline count, these ghosts were nearly as fast as a jog—close enough not to catch up completely, but they couldn’t afford carelessness.

Horne and Moroz left Gao Qie behind. He ran slowly, his frail frame swaying unsteadily, panting and reaching out as he yelled: “Wait for me, help, wait! I-I can’t run, wait for me!”

They hadn’t gone far when the ghosts closed in. Gao Qie’s knees suddenly buckled, and he collapsed straight to the ground. His pupils reflected the ghosts about to materialize as he screamed forward: “Save me!”

Horne glanced back at Gao Qie’s outstretched hand. His steps slowed, but Moroz immediately yanked him along, urging: “Run fast! Brother, he didn’t have a clue anyway!”

“Save me, save me, please!” Gao Qie shouted, his voice thick with sobs. He no longer wanted that pain again. He crawled forward desperately, but his body wouldn’t obey, collapsing limp and immobile. He cried without a trace of his initial arrogance, just a fragile child before suffering.

Horne turned around directly.

“Brother!” Amid the chaos, Moroz yelled.

Horne quickly told Moroz: “You go ahead. I’ll drag him.” Then he immediately ran back.

“Horne!” Moroz nearly roared, his footsteps halting as he watched Horne’s retreating back.

Aside from the ghost that caught Gao Qie, the others rapidly closed in during those seconds. The one beside Gao Qie had already rung its death knell.

“Save me!” Gao Qie screamed wretchedly.

Horne rushed to his side at top speed. The instant he gripped Gao Qie’s arm, he dragged him clear of the ghost’s attack range.

In that very second, Horne felt the force in his hand surge—a pull directly opposing his direction.

In a flash, Horne understood.

His pupils contracted. He instantly released his grip, but it was too late. Gao Qie’s other hand seized his just-freed one and shoved him backward.

Horne had been charging at full speed; his momentum hadn’t slowed much. Pushed by Gao Qie, he tumbled back with inertia.

Right behind them was the now-materialized ghost.

“Horne!” Moroz’s shout turned from clear to muffled in an instant.

In his terrified pupils, the ghost opened its maw and swallowed Horne along with his shocked expression.

The best way to protect oneself from a ghost’s grasp—have someone else block it.

Seizing the chance, Gao Qie scrambled up from the ground in panic. Moroz stood frozen a few meters away, his face deathly pale.

The moment he was engulfed in the stickiness, Horne’s vision went pitch black. Immense pressure dragged him downward into an endless abyss. His limbs were bound, his ears deaf to all sound, leaving only the viscous tearing across his body.

Intense suffocation flooded him. In this eternal night, Horne’s eyes snapped open.

Before him was no longer the game’s street but the black night of the Frost Plains. Wind carried flying snow across the wilderness, turning into black particles that blanketed the starry sky in apocalyptic turmoil. They swept like a flock of crows across the horizon, then dove toward him.

Up close, Horne saw what they truly were.

Not particles, nor crows.

Aliens.

Thousands of them, each alien’s sharp maw aimed at him, glinting with icy lethality, turning into ice spikes in the snowy night.

He and his companions had once faced thousands of aliens, but never had he stood alone in the wilds. The bone-deep fear and hatred of aliens made Horne instinctively step back in shock—but it was an illusion. He couldn’t move at all, rooted straight in the ancient void, his pupils reflecting the massive horde drawing ever nearer.

He saw their wings, their faces, the savage madness in their eyes.

In the instant they filled his vision, all the aliens vanished. The horizon emptied, a flowing river of stars. Amid the cold, Horne exhaled almost imperceptibly.

The next second, without warning, a sharp point pierced through his chest from behind.

In the instant pain struck, Horne looked down in disbelief, lips parting soundlessly. He saw the blade protruding from his chest, coated in his own blood. He tried to turn, but couldn’t. Blood welled in his throat; the rusty taste trickled from his mouth.

Immediately after, the second one, the third one…

One knife blade after another pierced into his body from behind, withdrew, and the next one stabbed through again. They seemed to be lining up, every single alien wanting him dead right there.

Horne grunted twice, gritted his teeth, and stared with eyes full of bloodshot veins in disbelief. Immense pain spread throughout his internal organs, but those organs were being stabbed too. Later, it was his calves, thighs, arms, neck, and forehead until everything became a bloody mess, as if all the blood in his body was flowing out, turning his vision into a dim greenish blur.

He was being killed.

He could not move or escape. He endured the intense agony, his mind perfectly clear. Tears streamed from his eyes one by one from the pain, yet he did not make a single sound.

Thus, the torment intensified, stabbing until there was not a single intact spot left on his body.

‘I want to die.’

‘Better to just die.’

‘So painful… Is there anyone who can save me?’

In the snow, the force binding his body vanished. Horne’s figure swayed, and he suddenly knelt down. Pure white snow mingled with crimson flows. His heart, already mangled beyond recognition, now pounded fiercely once more.

The terror of being pierced from behind made it impossible for him to hold back. He used nearly all his strength to turn around, wanting to look, even if they killed him face-to-face.

When he dragged his rotting body around and turned his head, his mind went blank in an instant.

The ones killing him were not aliens. What pierced through his back was not a sharp beak, but one faceless doll after another. Each held a small knife—the very one he used himself—stabbing him through.

In that second, Horne could not suppress it any longer. A wretched howl finally burst from his mouth.

“Aaaah——!!!”

He feared the red and white entwined together, feared the river of blood in the snow. That starry sky turned red, becoming ragged gasps in the darkness behind closed eyes.

Horne lost all sensation in his body. When he opened his eyes again, the first thing he saw was the living room ceiling light, cracked in half. No light shone, the room was utterly dim, and there were no sounds.

He moved his fingers slightly and immediately felt that he was not lying on the ground, but in someone’s arms. He sat on the other’s lap, warmth gradually seeping into his chilled body bit by bit.

In that instant, he heard a powerful heartbeat by his ear, every beat transmitting clearly into his mind.

He seemed to be leaning against someone’s chest.