Chapter Four: Deep Within the Warehouse
1
That stuff—blood, perhaps, but not quite. Slowly, persistently, it seeped through the warehouse door crack, right under everyone's noses.
Dark red and thick as melted asphalt, its surface glistened with an eerie sheen. It didn't flow so much as "grow"—like a living fungal carpet, its edges extending thin tendrils that crawled forward inch by inch, leaving wet, sticky trails across the floor. The sight was downright unlucky.
The stench in the air was unbearable.
Not the sweet, metallic tang of fresh blood, but a rancid stench—a mix of rust, mold, and an indescribable ash-like odor that made one's stomach churn.
"Back up!" Zhao Yan barked, stepping directly in front.
Everyone retreated, backing all the way to the shelves blocking the door. Behind them lay a street teeming with monsters; ahead, a warehouse seeping with strange substances. Now they were truly trapped—no escape, no retreat.
"When did this door close?" Erin's voice was taut as she stared at the warehouse's heavy metal door. When she and Old Zhang had checked earlier, it had been ajar.
"No idea..." Liu Qiang cowered at the very back, his voice shaking uncontrollably. "I just... just glanced over there, and saw this thing oozing out slowly. It scared the hell out of me."
The countdown above their heads ticked relentlessly: 05:37:44.
The singing outside the window grew clearer—a woman humming an ancient tune, her voice thick with tears, each word drawn out painfully long, sending shivers down their spines. The clatter of wooden clogs drew nearer, slow and deliberate like a stroll, but the direction was unmistakable—straight for the convenience store.
"We can't wait here," Old Zhang gripped the fire axe, eyes fixed on the warehouse door, then glanced out the window. "We either deal with the one outside or the one inside. Pick one."
"Choose my ass! Both ways are dead ends—just waiting to get eaten alive!" Wang Hu's face, still streaked with blood, twisted in terror.
"Shut up." Zhao Yan cut him off, his mind racing. The warehouse had been checked by Erin and Old Zhang earlier—nothing but stacked crates then. Now something was off. Only two possibilities: either there was a hidden door or trap inside, concealing something; or that thing had just appeared, or worse... entered with one of them.
His gaze swept over the three who had just emitted the gray mist: Old Zhang, Erin, and Wu Feng.
Old Zhang stood alert, his posture professional, his grip on the axe steady. Erin observed with eyes as cool and focused as a microscope. As for Wu Feng... the painter had pulled out paper and brush again. This time, he didn't sketch. Instead, he dabbed some of the dried blood from the floor onto his fingertip, rolled it between his fingers, and brought it close to his nose to sniff.
"Not human blood," Wu Feng murmured, his tone as measured as if appraising paint pigments. "Contains cinnabar, saltpeter, bone ash... and a faint trace of demonic energy. Residue from some sort of magical array—or rather, a medium."
"A magic array?" Chen Mo pushed his glasses up. "You mean there's a summoning array in the warehouse? Or a sealing array?"
"Not sure. But this blood is the medium. It's seeping out—either the array's been activated, or... something's crawling out through it."
The moment Wu Feng spoke, a chill ran down everyone's spine.
Just then, the pool of "blood" abruptly stopped spreading outward.
It halted five meters away from the group. The fine tentacles at its edges slowly retracted, and the liquid surface began bubbling. As the bubbles burst, the stench of decay mixed with incense ash grew even stronger.
Then, the center of the liquid slowly began to bulge.
As if something was about to emerge from beneath the pool of blood.
"Get ready!" Zhao Yan barked, gripping his fire axe tightly.
Everyone raised their meager weapons. Old Zhang stepped forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with Zhao Yan. Erin gripped her pepper spray, her finger hooked on the trigger. Chen Mo clutched his laptop to his chest like a fragile shield.Liu Qiang's hand holding the utility knife shook like a sieve. Lisa's high heels pointed forward, her face drained of color. Wang Hu clenched his teeth, holding the paper cutter horizontally in front of him. Zhou Ming gripped the mop handle tightly, his palms sweaty. Wu Feng put away his paper and pen, silently retreating to the rear side of the group, but his hand rested on the buckle of his drawing tube.
The pool of blood swelled higher and higher, eventually swelling to the size of a human head. The dark red mucus on its surface stretched and distorted, slowly revealing the blurred outline of facial features..
Then, it "opened" its mouth.
No sound came out.
Yet simultaneously, everyone's mind "heard" a shrill, malevolent hiss—neither male nor female:
"Hungry——————————"