Mo Xiaotian's fingertips still retained a slight tingling sensation from the electric arcs, but his nostrils were first filled with a salty, nauseating stench. He stumbled as he tried to prop himself up, his palm sinking not into the expected floor of the carriage, but into some kind of viscous, cold granules. Each grain of sand seeped black-red liquid, like crushed, rotten viscera.
"Where is this...?"
His trembling voice was swallowed by the sound of waves. He looked up, and the whole beach appeared in a sickly gray-blue, as if soaked in formalin. At the tide line, instead of shells, were densely packed bone fragments resembling jaws and piles of garbage, colliding with each other as they surged in with the waves, making a cackling laughter sound.
His head was dizzy, trying to stand up, while an icy chill rushed from the soles of his feet straight to the top of his head, making him involuntarily shiver.
