The damp and stale wind drills into the nose, peels away the temperature on the skin and mucous membranes, freezes and chokes the thoughts, making it unsustainable.

Buildings, streets, rivers, what should appear are erased from the vision, replaced by a torrential rain of dark rain, which apocalyptic merges heaven and earth into one, returning to the chaos before creation.

Tens of millions of tons of water fall from the sky, merge into the torrent that gushes out of the ground, and gallops through the squares and streets.

The unreachable depths were communicated with the surface by the currents of water, like an ancient giant in hemorrhagic shock suddenly injected with a large amount of blood, and some kind of pulsation followed the refilled vasculature to the surface, and the tiny creatures living in the dry fur were only then frightened and inexplicably aware of the situation, something was always active below.

There is no thunder, and in the galloping air current, another signal can be perceived, not from the clouds, but from the water below.

As the floating foam arrived, it burst like foam, further torn and elongated by the galloping air currents into something like a call sign.

He had heard the sound of a man at the bottom of the Tem, chased by the Chaos in the mausoleum at the bottom of the Tem, as if the voices of many individuals were stirring in unison.

At this moment, the sound evaporated from the waves, and with that stale breath was carried up by the wind, permeating every inch of space that could be perceived.

【Here you come!】 】

They whisper, but they are deafening, they do not obey any perception of sound, they are not in the realm of hearing.

The dark water world pouring out of the window seemed to have some kind of collective consciousness beyond cognition at that moment, discovering him at the same time as he "heard" the voice, and all of them cast their attention to this window that was swaying in the wind and rain.

That kind of attention, condensed into a sharp toothed fin tail, is born from the birth of a painful living creature cruising in lightless waters, swimming up a six-walled vertical pipe, oscillating in a vein-like complex tunnel, and following the turbulence to the surface and beyond the water.

It felt so real that the recipient felt like a blood-smelling eel lunging at him, burrowing through his forehead, swirling in his frontal sinuses, and passing between his eyes. The nasal septum is bent to one side under compression, the refraction of the eyeball is mottled and blurred due to deformation, and the top of the pharynx bulges and twitches.

He subconsciously grabbed his face with his hand, only touching the wet tufts of hair on his forehead and the intact bridge of his nose.

But in the sensation, the thing had pierced through the vescular, thin bony area and burst into the skull, reconciling with the fluid that enveloped the brain into a diffuse, explosive pain that seeped into the deep cavity and continued to extend deeper.

The pure and real pain crushed the spirit, the consciousness shattered in an instant after reaching the limit, and the black sin closed in the middle of the field of vision.

Before he lost his ability, he saw something, a white halo like the reflection of the moon wheel slowly rising, extending softly and flexibly from the crest of the waves, and climbing up the shoulders of the icon.

"Ugh"

The dizziness of the world spinning, accompanied by the screeching sound of wooden furniture feet dragging and tipping over on the ground.

Green opened his eyes, and above him was a familiar ceiling, one side lit by the half-cut candle left, the rest shrouded in uneven shadows.

Subconsciously looking at the window, the locked window pages block out the damp and cold of Dunling's night, and the glass mosaic reflects the dim candlelight like holy light, and the room is a quiet and peaceful scene, giving people a familiar sense of security.

Nightmare?

The remaining memories are as fragmented as the clay cups that have fallen to the ground, and only the deepest part remains in the areas of consciousness that instinctively do not want to touch, and only a little deeper erupts into incomprehensible resistance.

Dark, damp, painful, extreme and chaotic, unable to find the cause and effect.

But when I opened my eyes, it disappeared completely, perfectly confirming that everything is a dream,

Lying on the floor for a moment, he swept away the fragments of the cup beside him, and in the process touched the wet scattered papers.

The blurred handwriting reads something that still remembers: the clinic has recently added a new drug.

The feeling of acid repulsion and the concern about the paperwork forced him to prop up his upper body as quickly as possible, and despite the dizziness that had not yet faded, he rescued the rest of the paper from the water stains and dried them separately in the dry area.

With the rough indentations on his forehead, combined with the soreness of his arms, he must have fallen asleep on his stomach on the table, and had the worst dream of his life, so bad that he still struggled when he woke up, and fell to the ground with a chair.

"Tuk Tuk!"

The sound of knuckles touching the wood, ringing twice behind him, regularly.

"Come in, Wadin, I'm still awake." Almost without much thought, access was blurted out. There are only two situations for a night visit, an urgent matter, and an acquaintance, and this unhurried knock on the door is clearly not the former.

He was ready to push the door open and laugh at how he slept from the table to the floor.

But it wasn't the turn of the key in the keyhole that responded to him, but the second round of knocks.

"Tuk Tuk!"

The people outside did not seem to hear the owner of the house, and the striking was more haste and urgent, and the sound echoed through the empty building, and then turned back to the door, and came over and over again.

Before he could figure out who the visitor was, the same tapping sound sounded on the window.

A gust of cold wind hit the window, the glass trembled in unison, flickering brightly and darkly, the rhythm was indescribably weird, and there was a sense of "imitation".

He shouldn't be able to make out the difference between the tapping, but the tapping, like something that a person who has never been exposed to language, has drawn according to a template—almost correct in form, but it is written on his face.

Green tried to get up. In any case, he must get up first and get the sword enshrined under the emblem first. There's a sense of déjà vu at work, and this action happened vaguely not long ago.

In fact, I found that it was not so simple, and the body that was like an arm commander on weekdays seemed to be stuck to the ground with a slurry, and it took several times as long just to turn over, and every inch of limb from the jaw to the feet was poured like mercury.

When he was finally able to prop up his torso on both elbows, a sudden burst of tinnitus and a loss of balance interrupted further movements.

The tapping was gone, the metallic beep was the only sound left in the ears, and the ground in front of me moved a little out of thin air, rubbing against the stinging arm like a ripped carpet. He fell to the ground again, his chest pressed against the cold stone bricks, for unknown reasons.

Soon he understood.

Again, the shift in vision struck with tinnitus, and a force that made everything in front of him tremble with it, and the masonry in his chest was transmitted to the ribs. Like a worm in a giant clock, something is striking this lonely room that hangs in the dark night.

The force was unrealistically powerful, but each time it came, the blood in the chest swelled in the veins like wine, and the gas resonated with the torn lungs.

Suffocation and palpitations pressed against the eyelids, and the room shattered before fragmentary consciousness tried to organize a final resistance. The striking objects poured in, and Green could feel how they gripped their palms between their fingers, dragging their bodies towards some kind of fall.

He fell or ascended in darkness and unconsciousness, and his position was meaningless at this point.

When I felt it again, the first thing I heard was the soreness of the arm and the stiffness of the cervical spine.

Green opened his eyes, and there were completed letters on the table, and small raindrops drifted through the cracks in the window.

"Tuk Tuk!"

There was a knock on the door from behind him.

“.” Green's spirit tensed instantly.

"It's me, Father." A familiar voice, not Vadin, was another monk. Green clearly remembered his name and origin, not because of his good memory, of course, but because he had copied it by hand when he submitted the information about the people involved in the operation the other day.

Green breathed a sigh of relief and got up to open the door, "Brother Sandor? ”

"Good night, Father, I'm glad you haven't slept yet, may I come in and sit down?" The monk in his regular clothes stood in the doorway, without a sword, and it seemed that he had not come on official business.

"Welcome, my brother, please sit down by the stove, and I'll light it up in a moment."

"Thanks, but don't bother, I won't stay long."

"Huh?" Green threw a roll of hay into the brazier, and was about to light the candlestick when he looked back to see Sandor standing straight on the edge of his chair, not seated. Probably because of the rain outside, his pants were soaked from the knees down, and his boots looked like they had just been soaked in the water, leaving a trail of footprints behind him.

"What do you mean?"

"Did you hear that?" Without waiting for Green to answer, from the priest's unguarded and ugly expression, he got the answer he wanted, and showed a slightly stereotypical smile.

"Mysterious Martial Arts: The Record of the Knight's Swing of the Rhino" is in the midst of a great explosion ( ̇ ̇)