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墨書 Inktalez
The exposed gray color of this thing is its skin, and I don't see its hair. His limbs are also light gray, but the claws embedded in Roasted Bat’s flesh are black, bright and dark. I think most people have never seen Pangolin, let alone know that Pangolin has claws. How awesome. The claws on this thing remind me of Pangolin. From the part of its claws exposed outside Bat Meat, I judge that it is not as long as Pangolin’s claws, but more powerful than Pangolin’s claws. Its claws are highly curved, like hooks, short but thick, and emit a metallic light under the One-Eyed Beast Flashlight. The claws it grabbed RoastedBat did not close, but a few claws were hooked on RoastedBat, and RoastedBat hung steadily on its claws, as if it had barbs on its claws . This kind of claw is certainly not suitable for digging, but more suitable for attacking predators. I can tell from just the claws that this is a very aggressive thing. This thing is huge, probably no bigger than me. When its paw holding the Roasted Bat leaves the Stalactite, its body is no longer hanging tightly on the Ceiling's Stalactite, but like a field power line maintenance worker, sideways Standing next to the upside-down Stalactite column. Field power grid line maintenance personnel have protective ropes and special foot buckles that allow them to stand upright on the poles and free their hands. At this time, I also saw clearly that this gray-skinned thing also had a protective rope, and a long tail was wrapped around the upside-down Stalactite pole. Compared with its thick body, its neck is relatively slender, and its head is a bit like the alien e in "Close Encounters of the Sixth Kind". In terms of proportion, the head looks slightly smaller. But this thing's ears are very big, the flat and round auricles can move, and its eyes take up half of its face. Seeing this ghost-like thing made me feel a little happy. I'm glad I'm not mentally disturbed. The feeling I had just now of being peeped on was not a side effect of eating Bat Meat. It's not caused by high mental stress, it's not delusion but intuition. But a very nervous person like me really shouldn’t have mental problems. I should have this kind of confidence.
The creature looked down at me from above, its expressionless face conveying a message: it ignored me, considering me no threat. More troubling was the implication that it could kill me at any moment.
I understood this message clearly and decided not to give it that opportunity. I aimed my AK-47 at its head.
In the next instant, just as I was about to pull the trigger, I saw a blur before my eyes—the creature had vanished without a trace.
I clearly saw that it had no wings; it couldn't have simply disappeared. A buzzing sound echoed in my mind, and I felt an overwhelming sense of fear.
The muzzle of my AK-47 and the beam of the One-Eyed Beast Flashlight moved in sync as I desperately searched for it. I needed to locate and eliminate it as quickly as possible. If it slipped back into the darkness, finding it again would be nearly impossible.
The monster had vanished, at least from the range of the One-Eyed Beast Flashlight. This made me extremely anxious. Reluctantly, I prowled around the campfire, tirelessly directing the flashlight deeper into the shadows.
Logically, I knew I wasn't imagining things. My mood should have relaxed significantly, but in reality, my anxiety only intensified, making it impossible for me to stop. It felt as if I had to find that monster and kill it to ease my mind.
I found my behavior strange—uncontrollable and instinctive.
At one moment, I suddenly froze. I stood on a patch of oily residue. The strong scent of Roasted Bat lingered in the air. In that instant, I realized why my emotions were so unsettled. My subconscious was still worried about one thing.
The flickering firelight might have attracted this creature. More likely, it was the smell of Roasted Bat. If there was only one such monster here, then we only needed to guard against it. Furthermore, after feeding, it shouldn't need to eat again for a while. That meant we were temporarily safe.
What if there are more of these monsters? The firelight and the smell here will surely attract more creatures. We need to leave this place quickly.
I immediately packed my backpack. I helped Jack sit up against it, shaking and patting him in an attempt to wake him.
Jack seemed to be in a slightly better state, showing normal stress responses—he wasn't incontinent anymore, and when I offered him water, he was able to cooperate somewhat. However, he was still in a semi-conscious state; when I fed him water, he would respond and swallow, but as soon as I let go of him, he turned into a lifeless heap.
To leave this place, I had no choice but to carry him. But if he remained unconscious, I couldn't possibly carry him. Carrying a limp eighty-kilogram body would get me nowhere. I had to wake him up; only with his cooperation could I manage to move him. Besides, I also needed to carry two guns and two backpacks.
My shaking only caused his body to sway uncontrollably, his neck soft like it had no bones at all. His head bobbed around as if it might snap off at any moment.
I realized that if I wasn’t careful, I could either break his neck or damage his cervical nerves, which would lead to serious trouble. Gritting my teeth, I decided to slap him, hoping it would wake him up.
The sound of the slap echoed in the cave. In my life, I had never hit someone with such satisfaction; the sting in my hand was worth it. This was far more effective than shaking or shouting—Jack's eyes finally opened.
His lips were still swollen but not as severely as before, and his thick, dark tongue no longer filled his mouth completely. However, when he opened his eyes, they were barely slits of blue amidst the swelling on his face.
I certainly wouldn’t feel guilty about this nor did I have any unnecessary words; I immediately told him, "There are dangerous creatures here; we need to move right away."
Jack's face showed no expression. After all, a face swollen like a pig's head wouldn’t show much emotion.
He opened his mouth and uttered a few syllables. It seemed that speaking was still difficult for him.
I reassured him, "Don't worry; I'll carry you while we move. Just hold onto my neck and don’t fall off."
Jack slowly lifted his two powerless hands and rubbed his cheeks a few times before finally uttering a complete sentence. "Why don't you just slap me to death?"
"I..." I opened my mouth but couldn't find the words.
Wasn't he unconscious? How did he know I was hitting him? Was it because his face was swollen? That couldn't be it; he knew he was poisoned, and swelling was a normal reaction.
Could he feel me hitting him? That shouldn't be possible. If he could feel it, he would have reacted long ago; there was no reason for him to endure it for so long. If he could feel it and still didn't resist, I thought maybe he had never been slapped this much in his life. Did he have a masochistic tendency?
The thought sent a shiver down my spine.
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