Of course, Yan could not possibly die just like that.
He slowly opened his eyes. Everything around him remained pitch black.
He tried to raise a hand, but felt nothing—no sense of weight, no sense of movement, as if the boundary between "existence" and "nonexistence" had blurred into one.
At the center of the boundless darkness, a great white-browed tiger hung as if suspended, lying silently.
Its body was tall and powerful, its fur sleek, with only a single white streak on its forehead.
The tiger hovered in the void, its lantern-like golden eyes slowly opening within the darkness.
Strangely, Yan felt no fear.
Instead, an inexplicable warmth rose in his chest.
As if he were seeing a long-lost family member or another version of himself.
The tiger let out a low, mournful growl.
It slowly rose, circled around Yan, and lay down behind him.
Yan sat down as if drawn by instinct, a sudden ache flooding his chest.
The sadness came from nowhere, washing over his heart like a tide.
The tiger shifted closer, its massive head resting lightly against his shoulder, breath warm and steady.
A moment later, the tiger closed its eyes.
Yan closed his as well.
Tears slid silently down his cheeks, falling into the darkness below.
Buzz—
The falling tear turned into a beam of white light. Ripples spread across the ground, pushing back the darkness as everything dissolved into endless white.
Within the whiteness, the tiger let out another long, muted cry. It rose, pushed off lightly with its limbs, and took a few steps—Then stepped into the air.
Black smoke began to curl up from beneath its paws, spiraling along its legs. Fur turned to scales. Its tail split into nine segments of serpentine bone. The white mark on its forehead bled into darkness, stretching into a thin, sharp horn.
In a blink, the tiger was gone,the tiger was gone—replaced by a black dragon coiled against the pale sky.
Its scales were like ink, layered and coldly gleaming, its curved horn crescent-shaped.
The black dragon gazed down at the world below, pride and resolve flickering in its eyes.
ROOOAR—!
A dragon's cry cracked the heavens.
The dragon circled once in the sky, then folded its wings and dove.
Its silhouette streaked downward, faster and faster, a trail of black light, piercing straight into Yan's chest.
BOOM!
In an instant, the white world shattered completely.
Yan opened his eyes again—
The first thing he saw was damp soil. The suffocating scent of earth rushed into his nose, and his lungs heaved like a bellows suddenly restarted.
His consciousness slowly returned.
He tried to lift a hand and instantly sensed something biting into his arm.
He looked down.
A black, worm-like appendage was wrapped tightly around his forearm.
Its surface was slick with a mucus-like membrane,like a giant leech swollen several times, thicker than a human arm.
At its tip was a ring of hooked teeth, now sunk deep into his flesh, gnawing and contracting greedily.
Strangely, he felt no pain.
Yan frowned.
Despite the torn flesh and blood, he felt only a dull pressure,as if something were squeezing him through a thick layer of hide.
Almost on instinct, he reached with his other hand and clamped down on the "tongue."
"Hssr—!"
The creature let out a rasping screech.
Yan followed the sound and saw its source.
It was the pale creature he had killed earlier now grotesquely revived.
Its mouth gaped open, splitting back to the ears, and from the writhing throat protruded the very same tongue—nearly a meter long, slick and alive, entwined around Yan's arm.
Sensing danger, the creature shrieked again, pushing forward with its broken limbs, trying to coil around him.
Yan was faster.
He stomped hard on the creature's chest, forcing the tongue to stretch taut!
Planting his foot firmly, he yanked with both arms.
Crk—crk—crrk—!
The sound of tearing flesh rang out.
Splatter—!
Blue blood sprayed outward, shimmering faintly, splashing across his face and clothes.
The liquid carried a strange sweetness as it filled the air.
The creature let out fractured screams, chest convulsing, limbs thrashing,then collapsed limply.
A long mass of flesh was torn out.
Its base was pale white, covered in small hooks, still clinging to bits of blue tissue dripping blood.
But even severed, the "tongue" had not died.
It writhed desperately on the ground, hooked claws scraping the earth, throwing dirt aside.
But soon those hooks shriveled rapidly, turning from sickly white to ash-grey.
It struggled harder, trying to latch onto Yan again.
Yan's brows tightened. He swung his arm sharply—
THWACK—!
The tongue was flung far away, rolling across the ground, still twitching faintly.
The sight made his stomach twist.
"What the hell is this?"
He muttered, stepping back several paces. The tongue still writhed, inching slowly toward him.
Yan kept backing away,ten steps, then more,until there was a safe distance between them. Only then did he watch cautiously.
The tongue's white base had shriveled completely, as if every drop of moisture had been drained.
A moment later, its movements weakened, then ceased entirely.
Yan stared for a long time. It didn't move,but he still didn't approach.
After all, he had already been killed once. If he made the same mistake again, he really would deserve the ending.
He scanned the area, eyes landing on a nearby tree.
A plan formed.
He snapped off a thick branch, weighed it in his hand, and hurled it.
Whump—crack!
The branch struck the creature's body.
It twitched violently, letting out a weak rasp.
Yan's expression darkened.
Good thing he hadn't gotten close—this thing was actually playing dead…
He waited a bit longer. Only when the noise faded completely did he break off another branch and throw it again.
This time—no reaction.
Still, Yan's frown didn't ease. Creatures like this could never be trusted unless utterly destroyed.
He turned and left.
A while later, he returned dragging a tree branch nearly three meters long.
Then he gathered a sharp stone shard from the forest floor.
Using the elastic waistband of his uniform, he bound the stone tightly to the branch's tip.
Once tied, he shook it,the spearhead hummed.
"That should do."
He lifted the improvised spear and approached the tongue's corpse. Without hesitation, he drove it down.
Stab—!
Blue flecks splattered as the spear pierced through the dried mass.
Still uneasy, Yan raised the spear and stabbed again—
and again—
until the tongue was reduced to shredded mush, completely motionless.
Only then did Yan stop.
He caught his breath, then searched for dry wood. Soon he returned with dead branches and brittle leaves.
He built a crude fire pile, rubbed two sticks together, palms moving fast.
Thin smoke began to rise. He leaned down and blew gently.
"Hu—hu—"
Sparks glowed, turning into faint red light.
Half an hour later—a tiny flame flickered to life.
Yan's palms were raw and red, yet he still felt almost nothing.
He fed dry leaves and twigs into the flame, strengthening it. Then with a small shove, he tipped the burning pile onto the creature's corpse.
Whoosh—!
Fire climbed instantly up the shredded body, releasing a sharp stench. The charred flesh twitched once—
Then shriveled rapidly from its dried interior.
Soon, it became a blackened husk.
Yan stared at the fire for a long while.
Then picked up stones and smashed them down.
Thump—thump—thump.
The charred shell cracked, revealing hollow remains.
"That should be dead for real."
He finally let out a breath.
If something like this could still sneak-attack him, he might as well accept his fate.