Personality V: I will save everything

Chapter 697 The Corridor

"Alright, let's go! What's wrong with you?!"

Efron's roar echoed through the empty corridor, his fingertips almost digging into his palms.

He kicked a loose plank at his feet in frustration, sending splinters flying as his gaze was fixed on Percy beside him—this burly man, nearly two meters tall and with shoulders twice his own, was now hunched over, clutching his head tightly with both hands, his knees trembling uncontrollably, looking like a rabbit drenched in a downpour.

"It's just a bunch of dolls!!" Efron repeated through gritted teeth, his voice filled with suppressed anger. "A wooden frame with peeling paint, even the eyes are just glass beads glued on, and you're really this scared?"

He simply couldn't understand what Percy's muscular physique was for—when they encountered those inhuman dolls earlier, this guy had run faster than two children, but now he was standing there, unable to move, and the sound of his teeth chattering could be heard several steps away.

Amidst his rage, a deeper sense of powerlessness churned within him. Efron's gaze unconsciously drifted into the depths of the corridor, the darkness like thick ink. Reason screamed at him to go back and search, even if there was only a one in ten thousand chance, he should try—after all, he had nothing left to lose.

On the night his amnesia struck, the cold walls of the water tank, the desperate looks in his family's eyes as they pounded on the glass, his own numb fingertips... these fragmented memories always pierced his nerves in the silence.

The gentle admonitions of his parents and the playful shouts of his siblings were eventually drowned out by the slowly rising water level in the tank. From that day on, he became a walking corpse; living was merely a matter of habit, and death felt more like a relief to him.

So when he received the game invitation, he came almost without hesitation—since he was going to die anyway, what difference did it make where or how he died?

But it's different now.

Efron's gaze fell on the two children not far away: Matthias was struggling to suppress his fear, his little hands tightly clutching Itacua's clothes, the latter's cheeks still bearing traces of tears, yet he tried his best to straighten his small back. Those two tender faces, like two fine needles, pierced through his shell of self-abandonment.

He cannot die, at least not now. He must first get those two children out of here, back into the sunlight, away from this eerie hell.

The planned stumbling block, unfortunately, was Percy.

In this narrow escape tunnel, besides Matthias and Itaquya, there were only two adults: him and Percy. Efron was strong and resilient, and could even put up a fight against those puppets, but Percy was in such a dazed state that it was a miracle he wasn't even a hindrance, let alone help.

“Percy!” Efron stepped forward, grabbing the other man’s arm roughly, his hand gripping stiff muscles. “Wake up! If we don’t leave, we’re all going to die here! Do you want those two kids to feed the puppets with us?!”

His voice carried a barely perceptible plea, his anger gradually replaced by anxiety—the clicking sound of the puppet's joints turning could be heard behind him, growing closer and closer, like the footsteps of death, pressing in step by step.

.................................................. ........................

Efron's roar was like a heavy hammer blow, finally waking Percy from his muddled senses.

The burly man trembled, slowly lowering his hands from his head. His face, covered in cold sweat, was deathly pale in the dim light. Stray hairs on his forehead were stuck to his skin with sweat, and his lips trembled. He was finally no longer the terrified man he had been moments before.

He braced himself against the wall, his knuckles turning white from the effort, his knees creaking like rusty hinges, as he slowly straightened up—though his shoulders were still involuntarily hunched, and the fear churning in his pupils hadn't completely faded, at least he was no longer that pile of "rotten flesh" lying on the ground, and he could take a step.

"Let's go!" Efron didn't waste any more words. He grabbed Percy's wrist, which was hot and sticky, covered in cold sweat. He then put his other arm around Matthias and Itaquya's shoulders, tightly protecting the two children in the middle.

The sound of puppet joints rubbing together came from the theater behind them, mixed with the dull thud of wood hitting the ground, like a death knell. The group dared not linger and stumbled out the back door, plunging into a thick darkness that seemed to drip water.

The area outside the door was not the open space I had imagined, but a deep and dark corridor.

The wall felt damp, cold, and sticky to the touch. Where my fingertips ran, I could feel fine bumps, like a layer of rotting moss or dried scabs.

The air was thick with the smell of decay and mildew, mixed with a faint scent of formaldehyde, which made Itaquya cough. Matthias immediately covered her mouth with his small hand.

There was no light source in the corridor, and even the beam of a flashlight could not penetrate the boundless darkness. The endless depths seemed to harbor some kind of giant beast, silently watching them.

The group could only huddle together, shoulder to shoulder, arms linked. Efron walked in front, feeling his way along the wall with one hand, his fingertips occasionally touching the uneven marks, whether naturally formed or left by man.

With his other hand, he gripped Matthias's hand tightly. The boy's palm was covered in cold sweat, but he still tried to straighten his back and quietly shield Itaquya behind him.

Percy felt as if he were walking on cotton with every step he took. His steps were unsteady, and occasionally he would kick up pebbles on the ground. The sound was amplified infinitely in the empty corridor, making him shudder and his chattering teeth were particularly clear in the silence.

Silence spread in the darkness, broken only by the soft rustling of shoes against the ground, the breathing of a few people, and the occasional unidentified sound from afar.

After walking for an unknown amount of time, Percy suddenly spoke, his voice hoarse as if it had been sanded, tinged with obvious sobs: "I...I didn't mean to..."

Efron paused, turned his head to look at him, and could only see a blurry outline in the darkness.

“Those dolls…” Percy’s voice trembled uncontrollably, his fingertips digging deep into his arm, leaving several red marks, “They look so much like…like the ones I used to experiment with…”

He swallowed hard, the sound of his Adam's apple bobbing audible. "I used to be obsessed with research on the dead and the living, so... so I would go to the suburban cemetery at night to dig up corpses, several at a time, wrap them in black cloth and drag them back to the lab... I would spend whole nights dissecting and suturing them in formalin. Some corpses were half-rotten, the flesh on their cheeks was falling off, some had their eyes pop out, so I would sew them back into their sockets... those dolls just now, some were missing half their faces, some had their eyes crooked to one side, just like the ones on my lab table... exactly the same..."

Efron froze, his eyebrows twitching involuntarily—just because he had dug up corpses for experiments? That was enough to scare him into looking so terrified?

He couldn't help but think to himself: Come on, go back a few hundred years, which of those alchemists and early anatomists didn't sneak into the cemetery with sacks on their backs?

Some would even share the loot with the gravediggers, all for a fresh corpse. In the gray area he frequented, this was nothing new, at most a basic level of "going out of line," something they wouldn't even bother mentioning. Why were they so scared?

But he swallowed those words back. Efron gave a self-deprecating smile, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the calluses on his palms—he himself was someone who had worked in the gray areas, his hands had long been stained with indescribable filth, and he had seen things darker and more twisted than the exhumation experiments, so he naturally took these things lightly.

But Percy was different. Look at his hands; although they were covered in dust, they didn't have many calluses. He must have been used to a life of luxury and had probably received a proper higher education. Deep down, he was convinced of the importance of "ethics and morality" and regarded his experiments as an unforgivable sin. He was tormented by his conscience day and night, which is why he was so deeply afraid of similar scenes.

He glanced at Percy's tense profile, and in the darkness, he could see the cold sweat constantly sliding down the other's forehead, dripping down his jawline onto his collar, spreading out a small dark stain.

Efron looked away, offering neither judgment nor comfort—he himself was a sinner burdened by the blood of his family, unable even to redeem himself, so what right did he have to judge the fears of others?

"Keep going." He simply uttered three words, turned around, and continued to feel his way forward along the wall. The damp, cold sensation on his fingertips became increasingly clear, and occasionally he could touch sticky liquid on the wall. He didn't know if it was water or something else, which made him more and more wary of this unknown corridor.

Behind them, Percy's breathing seemed to have calmed down a bit, and his steps caught up with the rhythm. However, the faint smell of formaldehyde seemed to cling to them and linger.

.................................................. ........................

"Wow--!"

A scream shattered the silence of the corridor. Efron's foot suddenly slipped, and he lost his balance, stumbling forward.

He instinctively reached out to grab the wall beside him, but his fingertips only grasped emptiness. The damp, cold moss still lingered in his palm as his body leaned forward uncontrollably.

No wonder he is.

The corridor was so narrow it was like a coffin lying upright, with the walls on both sides pressing so tightly that even two arms couldn't be fully extended. The group could only move sideways, clinging to the walls with difficulty.

He had become accustomed to being able to touch a solid wall for support with every step, and his fingertips could even accurately distinguish the patterns of moss and the indentations on the wall.

Just now, the sensation at his fingertips suddenly disappeared—the previously cramped space suddenly opened up, and the ground under his feet changed from rough gravel to smooth, cold marble. The unexpected change caused his tense nerves and body to lose their balance instantly, and his knees slammed hard on the ground with a dull thud. If he hadn't braced himself with his hands in time, he probably would have fallen flat on his face.

Percy and the two children behind him were also startled by the sudden turn of events. Matthias exclaimed and grabbed Efron's clothes tightly, while Itaquí threw himself into Percy's arms.

Efron regained his composure, pushed himself up, rubbed his aching knees, and looked up—before him was no longer an endless, dark corridor, but a surprisingly vast space. In the darkness, he could vaguely see a towering dome and scattered massive stone pillars, like an abandoned temple, silently enveloping them.