308 Nightmare (1/2)
Charles heard the sound of blood flowing. It flowed on the floor, snaked across the walls backwards, and writhed toward the ceiling. It moved without regard to gravity, humming a love song of death.
He gazed at the elegant décor stained with blood—the dark red pillars with dark red baroque carvings, the dark red walls with dark red oil paintings, and the dark red ceiling with dark red chandeliers.
The large hall was bloody as well. Corpses were scattered about the world covered in blood. The dead faces were torn into pieces and each one was unfamiliar.
Charles stared at them in fear. Finally, he looked down and saw Abraham’s face. Abraham looked at him as well. Charles’s pale face was reflected in the blank eyes. A pleased smile seemed to still remain on the dead face.
”Charles, you’re a hero.” He grasped Charles’s hand and said gently, ”So impressive. I’m proud to be your professor.”
”Professor…” Charles gaped at him.
”Charles, be good and don’t run around anymore,” Abraham advised quietly. ”You must stay safe. You always speak nonsense and insult too many people but can never win in fights. You worry me.”
”Professor, you…”
A gaping hole opened in Abraham’s chest. It was empty. Blood flowed out, hurting Charles’ eyes.
”Run, Charles.” The dead man looked at him with a gentle yet strange smile. ”Don’t look back and run. I’ll look after you even in the underworld.”
Charles shook but could not move his feet. He wanted to say something but the dead died once again. All was silent in the large hall.
He could hear the panicked footsteps outside the hall. Screams sounded over and over. Everyone was running in panic. Someone pounded on the door, wanting to hide in here, but the door remained closed. The blood behind the door trembled and transformed into light rain. It fell through the air; it was so beautiful.
Blood finally flowed in from the world outside the door. The entire world was still.
Someone walked toward the hall through the pool of blood. Under the heavy creaks of rusted bronze, the large door opened slowly. The sound was deafening and Charles froze in place.
A bloody youth with black clothing and white hair stood amidst the corpses outside the door. He looked at Charles coldly. There were no reflections in his eyes, only cold cruelty and darkness.
”Yezi…all those people, you…”
Ye Qingxuan did not reply. He unsheathed his sword and walked through the puddle of blood. His murderous intent was heavy. Charles trembled and looked about in terror. All he saw were the dead faces looking at him. Those gazes came from the underworld. They seemed mocking and gleeful.
”Run, Charles,” they said. ”Don’t look back and run!” But those faces were ripped apart by the sword; they became ugly and bloody. Like an executioner, the white-haired tore the corpses into thousands of pieces. His eyes were vicious and cold. Blood splattered onto his face, covering his features and making him seem menacing and monstrous.
He looked back at Charles, who was retreating. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something.
Charles stumbled back and Ye Qingxuan stepped forward.
The blade pierced through his chest. The flesh lost its color; a bright yet cold blade poked out of his back.
”Yezi…” Charles gaped at Ye Qingxuan’s face; it was so unfamiliar. ”You came to kill me.” Chuckling, he embraced the youth beside him. ”Whatever, why should I run? It’s all…whatever.” Fatigued, he closed his eyes and darkness surged.
”Senior! Senior!”
Light flashed through dazed eyes. There seemed to be someone moving before him. He was shocked awake from his sleep; spirit returned to his eyes.
”Yezi?” he asked, stunned.
”You’re finally awake.” Ye Qingxuan smiled.
”Move, I want to see.” Beside him, Bai Xi squeezed in and pinched Charles’s cheeks. ”Charles, you’ve been sleeping for days without moving. Let me see, did you get fatter? Wow! So oily…”
”Stop messing around.” Ye Qingxuan knocked the side of her head. ”Get Old Phil out of here. Don’t you know the doctors are about to go crazy?”
”I don’t care. Old Phil can go wherever he wants, right?”
”Woof, woof!” Beside the bed, Old Phil barked. Then he reached a paw out to pat Charles’s face. This meant: follower number three, rest well and don’t worry about anything else.