novelaction Chapter 191 Eating Meat
Chapter 191 Eating Meat
stuffy!
The air seemed to solidify into a thick block of lead, pressing heavily on Hannibal's chest, almost suffocating him.
It was pitch black all around, with only the sound of my own rapid and disordered breathing echoing in my ears. Every breath I inhaled was like a struggle against invisible shackles, and every exhalation was accompanied by fear and despair of the unknown.
He tried to struggle, but found that his body seemed to be restrained by an invisible force and he could not move.
It's so stuffy! This feeling of suffocation comes not only from the outside world, but also from the indescribable depression deep in my heart.
Hannibal's mind was blank, his memory was like a beach swept by a storm, leaving only scattered fragments that could not be pieced together to form a complete picture.
He tried hard to recall, but he only felt a strong sense of uneasiness and confusion surging in his mind.
"Ahhhhh!" Finally, he could no longer endure the torment and let out a heart-wrenching roar. His voice echoed in the empty and depressing space, as if even the echo was mocking his helplessness.
As the roar ended, a surge of power suddenly surged into his body.
He suddenly opened his eyes and found himself lying in a mess, surrounded by tattered clothes, broken bones, and bodies that had lost their life.
Breathing deeply, Hannibal tried to draw a bit of clarity from the air.
However, the air he breathed in was extremely heavy, as if mixed with the wailing and wailing of countless people, as well as the lingering smell of rust, which irritated his nasal cavity and made him frown involuntarily.
He reached out and touched his face, the wetness and stickiness from his fingertips made his heart tighten - it was blood, his face, hands, and even the corners of his mouth were stained with glaring red.
Looking around, the sight before him left him speechless with shock.
Corpses that had been eaten beyond recognition were scattered all around, some with twisted limbs, some with missing heads, and in their empty eye sockets, there seemed to be lingering fear and despair before death.
What horrified him most was that one of the corpses was lying at his feet, its lusterless eyes still wide open, staring at him, as if expressing unfinished resentment.
"I did all this?"
Hannibal's voice trembled. He couldn't believe his eyes, and he couldn't believe that he would do such a cruel thing.
He tried hard to recall, but the gap in his memory prevented him from finding the answer, leaving only a blank and endless fear.
Just then, a dull and powerful sound of footsteps came from behind, breaking the silence.
Hannibal turned around suddenly and saw a tall man walking slowly towards him.
The man was wearing a black robe and a bird-beak mask, revealing only two deep eyes that flickered strangely in the dim light.
His steps were graceful and deliberate, as if he was walking on a carefully staged stage.
"Plague doctor?"
Hannibal's pupils suddenly shrank as he recognized the man's identity - the legendary plague doctor, a mysterious figure who traveled to every corner of the continent in the name of curing diseases.
An ominous premonition surged in his heart, as if he was stepping step by step into a carefully designed trap.
"What did you just do, and why are they all dead?"
Hannibal struggled to his feet, his voice filled with a hint of urgency and anger.
He longed to get an answer from the plague doctor, even if the answer would cause him more pain.
However, the plague doctor did not answer his question directly, but silently untied the mouth of the syringe in his hand, revealing the needle tip that was flashing with a cold light.
There seemed to be some unknown liquid remaining on the tip of the needle, emitting a faint fluorescence that made people shudder.
"What...what are you going to do?"
Hannibal realized something was wrong and struggled back away.
His heart was filled with fear and anxiety, and his intuition told him that the syringe contained no ordinary medicine.
The plague doctor walked towards him with a strange laugh. The laugh echoed in the empty space, like a call from hell: "Hehehe, you are my most perfect work, but you still have a flaw."
His tone was full of pride and madness, as if he was about to complete a great work of art.
Hannibal continued to retreat, and each step seemed so heavy and difficult.
He did not forget the corpses that were being eaten, nor did he forget the blood on his face and hands.
He knew that all this was related to the epidemic doctor in front of him, and this so-called "shortcoming" was probably the key to his memory loss.
"what did you do to me?"
Hannibal roared, trying to hide his fear with his voice.
But the plague doctor just sneered and did not answer his question. Instead, he quickened his pace and approached him.
At this critical moment of life and death, an idea suddenly flashed through Hannibal's mind.
He suddenly turned around and ran in the opposite direction of the plague doctor.