260: Blood Name Check

Chapter 260: A Bloody Roll Call. "Bring it on!"

Chen Mo let out a furious roar and charged into the swarm of monsters.

Bang!

A punch exploded outward.

A ring of visible white shockwaves erupted in the air.

That was a sonic boom cloud formed by the instantaneous evaporation of sweat.

The head of the first monster was smashed inward, exploding like a rotten watermelon.

There was no technique.

Only pure violence.

Chen Mo was like an out-of-control bulldozer, rampaging through the monster swarm.

Sharp claws tore at his back, and fangs bit into his shoulders.

But he seemed unable to feel the pain.

High heat.

Terrifying heat became his best armor.

Whenever those monsters bit him, their mouths would be scorched until the flesh split; when claws struck him, the wounds would be instantly cauterized by the heat, forming charred scabs.

“08876! Zhang Qiang!”

Chen Mo kicked and shattered a monster's ribs, shouting out a name.

“03321! Old Zhao!”

He grabbed another monster's tail—which was an extension of its spinal column—and swung it like a whip, slamming it violently against the wall.

With every kill, he called out a name.

This didn't look like a battle.

It looked more like a bloody roll call ceremony.

He was helping these former comrades reclaim their lost names before personally sending them on their way.

Ruan Qiushui floated in mid-air, watching the man below who looked like a demon possessed.

She didn't intervene.

Because she saw that as Chen Mo slaughtered them, the black resentment drifting from the monsters' corpses didn't dissipate; instead, it was sucked into the vortex on Chen Mo's chest.

He was eating.

He was using slaughter to feed that Heart of Gluttony.

His eyes grew brighter and brighter, his movements faster and faster, and the red light on his body even began to transform into an eerie ghostly blue.

Five minutes.

In just five minutes.

The alleyway went silent.

The ground was covered in a layer of black sludge and shattered bones.

Not a single corpse was intact.

Chen Mo stood in the middle of the pile of corpses, blue flames erupting from all over his body.

That was the manifestation of materialized radiation energy.

His clothes had been burned away, revealing his bare upper body.

His wounds were healing at a visible rate, and the newly growing granulation tissue had a metallic luster.

“Phew...”

Chen Mo exhaled a long breath.

When that breath hit the ground, it actually ignited a puddle of oil.

“Are you full?”

Ruan Qiushui floated down, carefully avoiding the filth.

“Thirty percent full.”

Chen Mo looked down at his hands.

His fingernails had turned black and grown slightly longer, their hardness comparable to steel.

“However, the warm-up is over.”

He stepped over the corpses of his former colleagues without a second glance.

Ahead.

The mist gradually dispersed.

The silhouette of a massive Gothic building emerged in the night.

The Jiangcheng Grand Theater.

It was like a sleeping giant beast, its dark, cavernous mouth open, waiting for the arrival of a sacrifice.

The main doors were wide open.

There were no lights inside, only a hair-raising silence.

But on the steps at the entrance, a sign was standing.

On it, a line of words was written in fluorescent paint:

[Welcome, Subject 001. The performance is about to begin. Please do not be late.]

The handwriting was sloppy, and fluorescent liquid was still dripping down, looking like some kind of prank.

“This taste is really poor.”

Ruan Qiushui curled her lip in disdain. “This place used to be for operas, but later it was said to be haunted and was abandoned. I didn't expect it to become Wang Daoming's kennel.”

“It’s not a kennel.”

Chen Mo stepped onto the stairs, his military boots crushing a floor tile.

He looked at the dark foyer, his gaze deeper than the night behind him.

“It’s a slaughterhouse.”

“Only this time, it’s not certain who is the butcher and who is the pig.”

He raised his hand and pressed it against the heavy wooden door.

A blast of blue flame erupted from his palm.

Boom!

That priceless, century-old rosewood door was instantly blasted with a large hole.

Amidst flying wood chips, Chen Mo strode inside.

“The Auditor!”

His voice echoed in the empty foyer, carrying the roll of thunder.

“Come out and receive your guest!”

...Deep inside the theater.

On the stage.

A beam of pale spotlight shone down.

On a solitary red velvet chair sat the person wearing the raincoat.

He held a glass of red wine, swirling it gently.

Watching the flaming figure on the surveillance screen who had broken through the door, the corners of his mouth under the raincoat curled up slightly.

“How crude.”

He spoke softly, his voice raspy yet magnetic.

“But, this wildness...”

“I like it very much.”

He snapped his fingers.

Snap.

The lights of the entire theater instantly turned on.

Hundreds of seats were filled with "spectators."

They weren't human.

They were specimens dressed in formal wear, their internal organs hollowed out.

They were facing the stage, stiff smiles on their faces.

“Come, Chen Mo.”

The raincoat man raised his wine glass, toasted the empty audience seats.

“Let us begin this final act.”

“The farce... titled 'Godslayer'.”

...The air in the foyer felt like congealed lard.

The stale, moldy smell of red velvet mixed with the scent of formalin hit him right in the face.

As soon as Chen Mo crossed the threshold, the floorboards beneath his feet let out an overburdened groan.

Blue flames flowed down his pant legs, burning two charred footprints into the expensive Persian carpet.

“The soundproofing here is pretty good.”

Ruan Qiushui floated in mid-air, her finger passing through an oil painting hanging on the wall. “Suitable for killing, and also suitable for destroying evidence.”

From the shadows on both sides of the hall came a faint scratching sound.

Like countless rats gnawing on wood.

“Those are the 'Ticket Inspectors'.”

That raspy voice came through the theater's old broadcast system, accompanied by the crackle of static, echoing in the cavernous hall.

“Officer Chen, it’s not very polite to barge in without buying a ticket, is it?”

Chen Mo stopped in his tracks.

He looked up at the circular balcony on the second floor.

Two rows of figures in red uniforms stood there.

They were far away, so their faces couldn't be seen clearly.

But one could see the long-handled axes they held, the blades glinting a deathly white in the darkness.

“Buying a ticket?”

Chen Mo reached into his pocket.

Aside from a butterfly knife blackened by the heat, there was only half a pack of cigarettes soaked by the rain.

He crumpled the pack of cigarettes into a ball and tossed it onto the ground.

“I’m not buying a ticket.”

Chen Mo grinned, revealing teeth stained with black blood. “I’m here to wreck the place.”

As soon as he finished speaking.

The railing on the second floor exploded.

Those dozen or so red figures jumped straight down.

From a height of five meters, their knees didn't even bend when they landed, their bones making the crisp sound of hard objects colliding.

They weren't human.

They were puppets.

Large copper nails were driven into their joints, exaggerated clown makeup was painted on their faces, and their mouths were painted red all the way to their ears.

No breathing.

No heartbeat either.

“Low-class taste.”

Ruan Qiushui let out a yawn. “Wang Daoming is a pervert, but his aesthetic has always been a major flaw. These things are too damp even to be used as firewood.”

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