boyutpedia Chapter 363 The Passage
Chapter 363 The Passage
The concrete passageway extends downwards, its slope so steep it's like a slide, and the ground is so slippery it's as if it's been smeared with oil. Every step must be taken with utmost care, the soles of the feet gripping the ground tightly, lest one slip and tumble down, falling and getting completely disoriented.
The stench of decay and chemicals in the air grew stronger and stronger, almost solidifying. It was so strong you could taste it with your tongue—bitter, astringent, like swallowing moldy bile. It made you dizzy and your temples throb.
The beam of the flashlight shone on the rough, stained, and slimy cave walls, illuminating more unsettling details.
In the corner lay the remains of an unknown creature. The bones were deathly white, some as thick as a human arm, others as thin as a finger, piled haphazardly together like a small tomb. Dried, blackened soft tissue remained on the bones, emitting a cloying, rotten stench.
Dark red, pus-like, viscous liquid seeped from the cracks in the corroded pipe, dripping down and pooling on the ground into shimmering puddles that resembled blood but weren't. An oily film-like sheen floated on the surface of the liquid, and when a flashlight beam shone on it, it refracted an eerie iridescence.
In some places, large splattered bloodstains, long since dried and blackened, remain. The bloodstains stretch from the base of the wall to the ceiling, like marks left when something was blown up. Some bloodstains are shaped like palms, with five fingers clearly visible—marks left by someone in their final moments on the wall.
"Ugh... this smell... it's like a biological weapon..."
Zhang Chulan covered his mouth and nose tightly with his sleeve, feeling a churning in his stomach, with acid rising to his throat. He gagged twice, but nothing came out; instead, tears welled up in his eyes.
"Just how many heinous things have those lunatics in parliament done here? Is this a laboratory or a slaughterhouse?!"
"Speak less, and pay attention to your breathing."
Master Wang's complexion was also not good. His lips were blue, and his brows were furrowed. He held his breath, trying to replace lung ventilation with internal energy circulation, while his fingers kept calculating, sensing the changes in the flow of "Qi" within the channel.
"There's a fork in the road ahead. The left is deathly still, filled with malevolent energy, like a stagnant pool, devoid of anything—no, there are things, but they're all dead, showing no signs of life. The right... there's a faint energy fluctuation, but it's extremely chaotic, like churned mud. And mixed in... fresh 'life force'? Something's not right, that 'life force' doesn't seem human, it's more like..."
He paused, as if carefully discerning the details hidden within the chaotic information.
"It's like something has just woken up from a deep sleep and is stretching its body."
"Angry? Someone's there?" Zhang Chulan was taken aback.
"It's not necessarily a person," Wang Ye shook his head. "It could be a living experimental subject, or it could be... something else. But the amount of 'life force' isn't large, so it shouldn't be anything big. But its nature is strange—it's not pure 'life,' it's mixed with 'death' and 'transformation,' as if something is transforming from one form to another."
"Go to the right."
Nie Lingfeng did not hesitate.
The presence of energy fluctuations and "life force" suggests there might be clues or dangers, but it's better than a dead end. A dead end means no exit, no information, and the only option is to return the way you came—a path blocked by a landslide.
He held Xiaoyun in his arms and could feel that the little girl's body was still tense, like a string stretched to its limit. Her fear of what lay ahead had not diminished at all; that fear seemed to be etched into her bones, and she could not shake it off no matter what.
But at this moment, she bit her lip tightly, her small mouth pressed into a thin line, and she stopped making a sound. She simply buried her face in the crook of his neck, her breathing light and rapid, her warm breath spraying onto his skin. Her small hands gripped his collar tightly, her nails digging into his flesh through his clothes, but she was completely unaware of it.
The passage turns right.
At the corner was a half-open, heavily corroded fire door, the door panel hanging crookedly on the frame, held together by only one hinge. The warning signs on the door were no longer legible, only a patch of mottled red rust remained.
The group squeezed through the crack in the door, revealing a relatively open space in front of them.
The flashlight beam swept across—
Everyone gasped.
This is a place that resembles a processing workshop. The space is large, about the size of two basketball courts, but it's a complete mess.
In the center were several enormous, twisted, and deformed metal treatment pools. The pools were welded from thick steel plates, with rings of control valves and instrument panels around the edges, but most of them had been smashed. Inside the pools remained viscous liquids that were dark green and reddish-brown, emitting a pungent odor. The surface of the liquid was as still as a mirror, reflecting the light from a flashlight, like two stagnant pools.
Floating on the surface were various indescribable fragments resembling internal organs and tissues. Some looked like livers, some like intestines, some like brains, and some resembled everything yet nothing at all. They rose and fell in the liquid, gently colliding with each slight ripple on the surface, making a "plop plop" sound, like splashing wet mud.
Scattered around the pool were more broken culture jars, shattered glassware, and overturned reagent racks. Glass shards from the culture jars lay scattered everywhere, some as large as a washbasin, others as small as fine sand. Dried culture medium remained on the shards, gleaming with a yellowish-amber luster under the flashlight beam. The metal frames of the reagent racks were rusted, and several test tubes hung crookedly on them, their liquids dried, leaving only a layer of black, charred residue.
And—several corpses that had long since turned to bones.
Judging from the tattered uniforms, there were parliamentary guards—they wore dark blue combat uniforms with faded badges on their chests; there were also researchers in white lab coats—the lab coats were yellowed and blackened, with large patches of dirt on them.
Their postures of death varied. Some were curled up in a corner, hands covering their heads, bodies huddled together, as if trying to hide themselves in their final moments. Others lay on the control panel, one hand still reaching for a button, as if trying to activate something before dying. Some even collapsed right next to the treatment tank, face down, one hand reaching into the tank, as if pleading for help, or perhaps trying to retrieve something.
It was as if they had been attacked by a terrorist in an instant, and there was no time to even run away.
"How...did these people die?"
Zhang Chulan's voice was a little dry. He looked at the corpses, imagining the fear they felt in their last moments before death, and a chill ran down his spine. The empty eye sockets of those white bones were facing him, as if silently accusing him of something.
"A riot. Or... the experimental subject going out of control."
Master Wang Ye crouched down and used a twig to poke at the rubble next to a skeleton. He didn't touch it directly with his hands—no one knew what else might remain on those bones.
"Look at this—the ribs aren't cleanly broken; they weren't cut by a sharp weapon, but broken by a blunt object. And it was hit from the front, meaning he was facing the attacker head-on and didn't even have time to dodge."
On one side of the workshop wall, there was a row of heavy metal doors. The door panels were silver-white with a fine brushed texture, and they looked very sturdy. Most of them were tightly closed, with thick iron plates welded to the seams, as if to prevent something from escaping from inside.
One of the doors was violently ripped open from the outside—not from the inside, but from the outside. The door panel caved inwards, and the concrete around the frame crumbled, exposing the reinforcing steel underneath. The twisted metal door panel drooped like a crumpled piece of paper, held on to the frame by only a last bit of fastening.
A dark passageway was revealed behind the door.
"This... is the primary sample processing workshop."
Bald Bear stared at the scene before him, his facial muscles twitching. His face appeared even paler under the light, and his forehead was covered in fine beads of sweat. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.
"Failed test subjects, as well as... 'consumables,' will be sent here for 'harmless' disposal or... further 'disassembly and utilization.'"
He pointed to the several huge treatment pools, his fingers trembling slightly.
"Strong acids, strong alkalis, high temperatures, enzymatic hydrolysis... there's everything. It seems there was a riot here during the evacuation, and the processing procedures were interrupted."
What's behind those doors?
"Nie Lingfeng asked. His gaze swept over the row of metal doors, lingering on each one for a moment, as if assessing their thickness and sturdiness."
"It should lead to different functional areas—cold storage, incinerator, temporary sample storage room... and... freight elevator shaft leading to deeper laboratories."
Bald Bear's voice was dry, as if his throat was stuffed with cotton.
"However, the elevator must have run out of power a long time ago. And..."
He didn't finish his sentence.
Once again, the chilling rustling sound of countless tiny creatures wriggling filled everyone's ears!
This time, the voices came from all directions!
Black streams were seeping from the gaps in the ceiling ventilation ducts—like black snakes crawling out of holes.
Something was surging beneath the iron fence, the drain outlet for sewage from the ground, causing the fence to bounce up and down with a clanging sound.
From the shadows of those broken culture tanks and wrecked instruments—something in the darkness reflects light—the damp sheen of insect carapaces.
"Here they come again! Those damned bugs!"