Consciousness is self-centered, extending to the surroundings, and the three-dimensional spatial structure is revealed in an intuitive form that has never been seen before, and it becomes noticeably blurred at a distance of four or five paces, reaching the main entrance of the hotel ten paces away, and beyond it is completely imperceptible.

Circumstances aside, Kraft was happy with this new sensory organ—literally happy, being able to see the inner workings of his body from this open perspective, witnessing how the heart pumps blood out and into the arteries. There's nothing more strange in the world than this experience.

Even if his mind was still in the process of finishing up the reconstruction, it couldn't stop Kraft from an unexpected ecstasy. For a moment, he forgot about the other world, forgot about the hunt, forgot what else he could forget, and this sense occupied his broken mind.

Kraft wants to announce to everyone he knows that from today onwards, I am a CT, an MRI, a B-ultrasound, and I am a whole imaging department!

Probably because the logic reconstruction is not yet perfect, the nonsensical joy continues for a while. He happily used this sense to observe everything that interested him, including himself, the planks, the stone bricks, the chest, the abdomen, and even his own brain, and found no dead spots.

Just as he was about to carefully "scan" the internal structure of his sword, a headache without warning interrupted him, forcing his attention to look away from the mental perspective.

It seems that the carrying capacity of consciousness has reached a critical point where it is no longer possible to receive more of this information. It seems that the non-innate sensory organs are not very well adapted to humans, he can't use it for a long time, and the hardware conditions can't keep up.

Similar to closing his eyes, Kraft can temporarily marginalize his mental senses and become a normal human being.

In just a few minutes, the impact of the mental senses is too great to ignore, similar to the effect of withdrawal symptoms.

From the first second he left it, Kraft felt a palpable sense of discomfort, feeling the source of information shrink abruptly, as if he were wearing a full-body armor helmet, his vision narrowed, and he was confined to an uncomfortable small angle.

He felt like he was crawling in a tube, he needed to take a deep breath to combat the illusion of breathlessness, and the feeling of cramped oppression urged him to reuse his mental senses and return to a free panoramic view, and to stop putting up with the inefficient means of retinal imaging.

[Dependence, addiction]

I thought that only drugs could produce such an exaggerated effect, but simple mental dependence could reach this level, and the effect of the illusion of cramping on the mind was fed back to the body, causing wheezing, nausea, accompanied by slight muscle aches, and it may also be the remnants of strenuous activity.

The reconstruction of the mind is basically completed, and the reason has tried its best to restrain the desire to reconnect with the spiritual senses, and the more uncomfortable it is, the more it should not be touched, otherwise the next disconnection will definitely be more serious.

Restraint, he needs restraint and gradually adapts to this process of switching. Neither mentally nor physically can be allowed to be controlled by anything suspected of being addictive, especially since it only takes a few minutes to cause harm to itself.

Kraft retracted his sword from its scabbard and lay down on a fairly clean table, looking for something else to fill his brain and try to distract from his discomfort.

The food for dinner, the unfinished books, the clothes that I forgot to wash, the odds and things that are not related, squeezing out the things I don't want.

Not particularly effective. Consciousness and body tossed and turned in discomfort for half an hour, perhaps longer, before they readjusted to the visual source of information. Feeling that his body and subconscious had found a new love, Kraft abandoned the familiar senses that he had used for more than ten years and tried to replace the spiritual senses as a permanent replacement.

This feeling is very unpleasant to the subjective consciousness, which realizes that there is something in this body that is beyond its full control, and that some "not-self" tendency is growing, and it is forced to give in with physical discomfort.

Of course it couldn't be, he managed to suppress the discomfort, rolled over and stepped into the water, wading towards the stairs. The clothes all over his body were completely wet in the seawater, and the slimy feeling was very uncomfortable, and the low ambient temperature was constantly draining his body temperature.

Going back to the second floor would make things better, and if he could light the small stove in the room, he would have a chance to dry his clothes.

Before that, Kraft sat down in the middle of the stairs, poured out the water from his boots, and put them back on, the second floor of this level was still unknown, and he stepped on a pair of heavy, dangling boots with the sound of water going upstairs, and it was not only the boots that entered the water, but also the brain.

Out of an abundance of caution, the sword was drawn again. The white-glowing thing looks quite creepy, but it's not the invulnerable monsters that come out of the horror story, it's closer to the prey that uses special methods to reduce the ability of prey to resist prey.

As for its routine, Kraft almost understood it. First, approaching when consciousness is not awake, the light is gentle, the movements are soft, and the voice is as soft as a whisper; After exposure, it takes the form of intimidation and interference, destroying the target's will with a twisted roar that reaches directly into the skull, and the strange form itself will also cause mental destruction.

It has the strange ability to drag its prey to the depths, and the closer it is to the depths, the easier it is to be pulled into the depths.

Kraft couldn't figure out what this meant, but it was not difficult to relate it to the behavior of the people living around the polluted wells in the salt tide.

At that time, it was only thought that there was a positive feedback loop between range, intensity, and number of people, and now it seems likely that it was involved in this positive feedback.

In the process of expanding the "domain" of deep influence, large-scale contact has attracted strange predators, using its ability to pull people deeper and deeper, and the sleep of the affected people is getting longer and longer, and I am afraid that the day when they completely fall into a deep sleep will be a complete fall into the first layer, a nightmare in the true sense.

Strange as it may seem, Kraft came up with an inappropriate metaphor for them being like little pieces of bread on the surface of the water that have been torn off the oily skin, gradually becoming soaked in the water, and the impatient fish under the water are stirring up the waves, speeding up the process, waiting for them to sink completely into the water and feast on their feasts.

Of course, feeding the fish is for the fish, and some people simply want to see it, and those who lack virtue directly catch the fish. Seventy or eighty percent of the initiator's goals are likely to be related to it.

And I want to understand a problem that is not beneficial to the status quo.

Kraft shook his head, shaking off the white, disgusting memories that were churning up. The phantom of the wrist and foot flashed before his eyes, and every time he recalled that roar, he would experience the feeling of painful gagging again.

Powerful memories had become a burden, and he couldn't get rid of some of them, so he could only temporarily block them and recall them when he was accidentally touched.

As he sat on the stairs, he could uncontrollably recall images of his wrists and feet hanging from above, and the branches of the dance were still in front of him. Cutting through the skin of the ravines, the structure below will feel familiar even if it is disturbed a thousand times.

In repetitive, active or passive recollections, the familiarity that flashed at that time is refined into a gradual maturity of speculation.

This soul, part of whom studied medicine, and part of whom played with swords, was certainly not a naturalist who cared much about animals other than humans, and the understanding brought by animal experiments was far from the level of his main business, so there was only one kind of structure that Kraft knew best from beginning to end - people.

He shuddered.

It's illogical, and there's a bit of logic in this place where there's no logic in the first place.

Kraft walked up the wooden handrail, the chill as cold as wet clothes clinging to his body, and he couldn't tell whether it was mental or physical.

The old planks beneath his feet made a jerky and harsh creaking sound akin to some shriveled moan in the silence.

He quickened his pace and fled from the staircase that seemed to have quickened the pace of decay, the cacophony of his heels, stopping the moment he stepped onto the second floor, and falling behind him no longer sounded.

This gave him an inexplicable sense of relaxation, as if he had escaped the chase of something, and the huge amount of stimulation did not desensitize him to fear, but instead became suspicious, and he had a subtle panic about the details of the change for no reason, unless he deliberately suppressed it with reason.

Is it true that the reason that comes from logic can still be invincible in this place? Kraft pondered the question and did not come up with an answer.

The unwrenched water trickled down the sleeves and trousers to the floor, leaving a trail of water stains in its wake. He's not the only thing wet, it's spreading along with the rising waters.

The second floor also seems to be filled with invisible moisture, the wooden floor under your feet has a subtle feeling of wetness, and the wall feels a thin film of water, which is the kind of saturated dampness that can only occur in the rainy season.

This inn has been in a humid environment for some time, and it has been soaked in water for several days, not like the tide rushing into the first floor in the middle of the night. Don't think about it, it's definitely the same in your own room, there's nothing that can be ignited.

Standing at the door of the room, he reached out and pushed the door panel with water droplets, but he couldn't push it open, and he was actually stuck by the door bolt on the inside.

Kraft was stunned for a moment, reached into his pocket, and felt empty, the deadbolt that had been put in the first level was gone, and it was a new locked room.

"Damn the hell place."

Leaning against the door, he temporarily lost his purpose, unable to think of what to do for a moment.

The world in which human beings live normally has always been called the "real world", and the deep nature is a dream-like existence by default, and the reset deadbolt proves his guess to a certain extent.

Maybe Kraft's body is still lying on the bed with cervical spondylosis, and it is only the immaterial parts of the soul that are being dragged in, so it makes sense to think so.

The problem is that dreams always wake up, but he doesn't know if he can go back automatically, and he doesn't know if the time consumed here is the same as in the dream.

Locked out of his room, Kraft leaned against the door panel and fell into thought again.

Of course he wanted to go back and get rid of this place completely. For now, there are two paths:

You can wait here, hoping to sleep like a dream and wake up naturally. But even if he went out, sooner or later he would have to sleep again, and then he would be pulled in by the glowing tentacle monster.

Or there are some more radical options that might increase the knowledge of the place and grasp the initiative a little...... Like, going out for a walk?