Chapter 229: The Town Where Memories Are Forbidden

Chapter 229: The Town Where Memories Are Forbidden

This was an extremely skewed perspective.

"It" clung to the outer wall, its line of sight forming a very small angle with the wall, vastly different from the normal human viewpoint.

But this did not hinder its ability to lock onto its prey—following the scent of blood wafting through the air, it could accurately track down its target even if it meant crossing the entire town.

Hunting was an instinctual code, one it never forgot or failed to execute.

At that moment, just two or three meters above it, was the attic of this house.

The glass window of the attic reflected some light, but one could still vaguely make out the shadow of a muscular man inside.

The blood-scent that was drawing it in, that sweet and crimson current... it was seeping out from inside the window.

It crouched on the wall, staring at the man for a long time without blinking, then silently climbed up the pipes on the exterior wall, quickly disappearing into the shadows.

Hidden by the darkness, it silently bared its teeth.

The unique structure of its skull allowed the angle between its upper and lower jawbones to expand to nearly 180 degrees, revealing a terrifyingly exaggerated maw capable of swallowing prey much larger than itself—a grimace filled with bloody intent.

Since its birth, the flame of hunger had burned ceaselessly within its belly, signaling the greatest instinct driving its actions—the scorching heat seemed to want to melt everything, to devour the entire town... no, the entire world.

And now, it was hungry again.

Today, whose door would be knocked upon by death?

...

Through the window, the scarred man sat on the sofa, oblivious to everything around him.

Several large backpacks were lined up neatly at his feet, containing tools like ropes and lighters, as well as necessities such as clothes, biscuits, and canned food—these were their last remaining supplies, now entirely under his control.

This was also why the scarred man felt confident in managing the other two, unafraid of them escaping. Without the supplies in his possession, they would be unable to survive in the town.

At that moment, he straddled the sofa rudely, his right leg stretched out, resting directly on the nearby stool. He still had the leisure to open a can of fish, half-closing his eyes to rest.

*Scratch*—

Just then, he heard a faint noise.

It sounded like hard nails lightly scraping against the wall, producing a continuous, soft sound that lasted for several seconds, almost making one imagine a long streak of wall powder peeling off.

The scarred man's first thought was that "the music" had returned, haunting him once again.

But after holding his breath and concentrating for a few seconds, he did not hear another sound and looked around with confusion.

...There was nothing.

In the rules of this town, such a quiet environment was the safest.

The scarred man should have breathed a sigh of relief, but an inexplicable anxiety ignited within him, a sense that some unexpected and dangerous situation was slowly approaching during this rare moment of solitude and relaxation.

Restlessly stretching his legs, he accidentally kicked over the fish can. The empty metal can rolled a distance on the floor, clattering loudly.

Wait a minute...

The scarred man froze, looking down at the fish can.

When had the fish in the can been eaten up?

He remembered that he had only casually speared two pieces of fish; there should still be more than half left in the can... Could he have been mistaken?

A chill, like a thin black veil, gently descended and caressed over the scarred man’s skin, making the thick hairs on his arms gradually stand on end.

Picking up the can of fish, the scarred man examined it closely, certain that it was impossible for him to have unconsciously eaten it all—because the fish contained some soft bones, and he certainly couldn’t have swallowed them without spitting them out, could he?

So, what had quietly infiltrated the attic, sharing the same space with him, and even eaten the remaining fish when he wasn’t paying attention?

The scarred man couldn’t help but wonder if, while he was resting with his eyes closed, that thing had been crawling on the floor, sniffing the scent of food, weighing whether the fish or human flesh was more delicious...

For a moment, his skin crawled, and he quickly turned his head to observe the attic around him.

Where was that thing hiding now?

Rustle—

There was the sound of fine friction again.

But this time, the sound was very close to the scarred man, right beside his feet.

He looked down along the sound and saw that his backpack, which had somehow bulged, was now filled with something, making it pulsate as if it were alive.

The scarred man cursed in fright and kicked the backpack hard, sending it crashing into the wall. A bunch of cans tumbled out from the open zipper, and the thing inside the bag moved, revealing a pair of golden vertical pupils.

—They were the eyes of a beast, devoid of emotion and reason.

“A snake?”

The scarred man squinted, identifying the creature in the backpack, and his heart immediately relaxed as he sneered, “I thought it was something else... Turns out, it’s just an animal.”

“Hiss.”

The snake tilted its head, its forked tongue flicking out of its mouth, not understanding his words.

Thinking of the fear that had gripped him moments ago, the scarred man felt a surge of anger, wishing he could strangle this wild snake right away.

With malice in his eyes, the power of his Ability spread from the scarred man, turning the floor beneath his feet into a soft, flowing swamp-like texture, undulating in waves like a frog’s tongue, surging toward the snake.

The scarred man belonged to the [Reshape] domain, with the Ability "Smelting"—as the name suggests, he could reshape anything he touched into new forms and properties, crafting them into entirely new creations as he imagined.

At this moment, he had transformed the floor into a fluid with special adhesive properties. Any creature that came into contact with it would at least shed its skin, which would remain permanently attached to the floor, becoming a bloody decoration.

He could already picture the snake’s skin being peeled off intact from head to tail, its intricate scales embedded in the ground...

It would be quite beautiful.

“Or I could use the snake’s skin to make a belt.”

The scarred man muttered maliciously.

The snake continued to tilt its head, neither dodging nor flinching, watching him silently.

The floor surged up to the snake’s golden eyes, but just before it could engulf it, everything suddenly froze—

No, to be precise, the flowing ground, the dust particles floating in the air, even the light and shadows cast through the window... everything stopped.

The smile on the scarred man’s face froze as well.

He was a beat late in realizing:

What truly came to a halt before the snake was time.

In the snake’s unblinking vertical pupils, time had been frozen into a clear, transparent amber, preserving all beings and things within it.

When it came to the bizarre power over “time,” this snake was absolutely not an ordinary creature that could be easily dealt with or defeated!

The scarred man stared intently at the snake, feeling the difficulty, and clenched his fists.

When did such a small monster appear in the town?

Sssssss...

At this moment, a series of scraping sounds interrupted the scarred man's thoughts.

He realized with a start that the snake in his backpack hadn’t moved at all. So why was there a soft sound gradually approaching him?

Upon closer inspection, these sounds were coming from behind, above, and below him...

As if strangled by an invisible force, the scarred man felt his breathing become difficult, and his stomach tightened with tension.

He swallowed hard, moved his stiff neck, and seemed to hear the creaking of bones deep inside as he slowly lifted his head—

The chaotic figures of countless snakes covering the ceiling met the scarred man’s suddenly constricted pupils.

It turned out there was more than one snake.

A large cluster of snakes was hidden on the ceiling, baring their white fangs at the scarred man; and some cold, soft sensations were circling around his ankles, like flexible ropes swaying about.

"Hisssss..."

They stared at the scarred man, their eyes cold and unyielding, all of them raising their upper bodies in the prelude to a snake's attack.

They didn't understand the scarred man's words, but they could read his actions—he had just tried to attack them.

So it was only fitting that they should retaliate.

Even if this human could open those strange, small iron cans, and the meat inside tasted delicious.

...

"Rumble—"

Halfway across the town, Lena suddenly heard a thunderous noise that shook the heavens and the earth, causing the ground to tremble slightly, and the fine sand and pebbles at her feet to roll softly.

She instinctively wanted to turn her head to look, but she was indoors, facing a cumbersome old camera that required a long time to focus, and a photographer with ashen-gray skin and a faint odor of decay around him.

"Don't, move," the photographer's voice came from his shriveled, rotting throat, like a rusty machine, haltingly warning, "It will be done, soon."

Thus, Lena had no choice but to remain in front of the camera, maintaining a formal, sweet smile.

This was the fourth attraction, the "Memorial Photography Studio."

Among the many attractions, its primary function was to provide visitors with keepsakes, posing little danger, and the rules were simple:

"1. Due to technical limitations, the photography process takes longer, so please follow the photographer's instructions."

"2. Single-person photography is free, while group photography for two or more people requires payment based on the number of individuals."

"3. If your friend for the group photo has already passed away, please cooperate with the photographer to hang them on the metal frame and arrange them in an aesthetically pleasing pose."

"4. Under the premise of rule 3, if you notice your friend's body moving during the photography session, ignore any changes; it is merely an illusion."

Lena experienced a solo photo shoot, needing only to follow rule 1.

After what seemed like an eternity, her eyes were nearly too sore to keep open when the camera hummed to life, completing the shot with a flash of white light.

Finally, it was over!

Lena stretched her stiff shoulders and let out a huge sigh of relief.

While waiting for the photographer to develop the photos, Lena followed his advice, suppressing her curiosity and refraining from going outside to investigate the noise.

Bored, she wandered around the studio, where the walls were lined with rows of photographs of town residents and visitors.

The date was written in the bottom right corner of each photo. Lena noticed that since the year 678, when Anna and other children went missing, the frequency of children appearing in the photos had significantly decreased, until eventually, almost only middle-aged and elderly people were featured.

Hmm... and also corpses.

In this town’s culture, those who had just died would be dressed up, carried to the camera, and posed standing or sitting, with their eyes propped open to face the lens, capturing their last photo in life, sometimes even a family portrait with their loved ones.

In these photos, the living and the dead were mixed together, frozen in eternal happiness as a family.

Lena examined each photo with interest, searching for the subtle inconsistencies, the dilated pupils of the corpses, until she suddenly stopped before the photo at the very edge.

This photo was unique.

—It was a photo of Lena herself, taken three days ago.

For a moment, Lena felt a chill rise from the soles of her feet.

But she quickly recalled that when she woke up near the ticket booth, there was a note in her palm left by her pre-amnesia self, and she immediately calmed down.

It was just that her pre-amnesia self had also entered the town and even taken photos at this very spot—nothing to be overly concerned about!

Lena observed her former self in the photo; the girl was still wearing her usual twin braids, and perhaps due to waiting too long for the camera, a hint of impatience showed on her face, but she appeared well, with no marks on her exposed skin.

Curiosity grew within Lena:

Had she failed to escape the town before?

Why? What insurmountable problem did she encounter?

Her fingers involuntarily caressed the photo, and Lena suddenly noticed it was slightly uneven. She flipped it over and indeed found some writing on the back.

"Do not recall."

"I released that... monster."

Connecting these two sentences, Lena surmised that a monster might have come to the town because of her memories, making it impossible for her to handle.

So, the town's rules emphasized the prohibition of recalling because here, "recalling" could make things real?

As she pondered, the photographer spoke up: "The photo is developed. You can take it or hang it inside the gallery."

Lena initially didn't want to keep the photo, but then she thought about how the two photos she took three days apart might end up hanging together, which seemed a bit eerie.

She paused, then changed her mind: "I'll take it." She also pulled out her all-access pass and asked the photographer to stamp it.

Stamp +1.

Stepping out of the photography studio with satisfaction, Lena couldn't wait to look in the direction of the rumbling sound and was immediately stunned.

From a great distance, she could clearly see that a small mountain had risen from the ground—

A bizarre mountain body forged from countless intertwined buildings.

The walls of various houses were crudely stitched together like torn fabric, forming a massive mountain; irregularly protruding eaves made up the steep cliffs; and the bright, reflective windows shimmered like pools of water on the mountain's surface.

It stood there in the town, like a discordant note in a harmonious melody, a scene that could only exist in a surreal dream.

Most striking were the concentric indentations on the surface of the house mountain.

As if a giant snake had once wound its way through the interwoven buildings, its powerful muscles gradually contracting and tightening around the mountain, just as it would strangle a struggling prey, the terrifying force collapsing the walls and leaving behind these deep, circular grooves.

The deafening roar Lena had heard earlier must have been the collective wail of countless bricks, tiles, and steel bars.

Even now, debris occasionally fell from near the grooves, silently crashing down, making the entire mountain of houses seem on the verge of collapse, swaying precariously.

Lena was perplexed.

What had happened outside while she was taking photos?

The house mountain seemed to be the product of some Ability or artifact, but what about those grooves?

What kind of colossal body could leave such deep grooves as if crushing a beer can with ease?

Lena had no doubt that such strength and size could instantly crush a real rock mountain... When did such an existence appear in the town?

Suddenly, Lena's heart skipped a beat as those words appeared before her eyes again—

"I released that... monster."

She seemed to understand what had forced her former self to re-enter the town.