Somewhere in the first floor of the Monster Abyss, there was a corpse lying motionless on the floor.
The body belonged to a young man. Handsome, in a way that drew attention even in death.
His black hair was messy but thick, his lashes long, his brown eyes half-open and dulled.
He wore the kind of clothes anyone might see on a college student back on Earth—faded jeans, a dark hoodie, and sneakers now torn and soaked in blood.
The cause of death was clear: a massive hole gaped in his back, large enough for light to pass through, the wound piercing straight through to his chest.
Suddenly, the blood that had poured from the hole began to move.
It flowed backward, defying gravity, sliding over the ground and re-entering his body. The wound pulsed, the flesh knitting together, muscle and skin sealing at a pace visible to the naked eye.
The young man's chest rose.
His fingers twitched.
