Yvonne blinked her dry eyes, easing the discomfort caused by the red glow in the darkness. At first, she thought it was a lantern enclosed in glass, but the light source was small and steady, like an eye embedded in the floor, casting a red gaze laden with unfathomable meaning from something buried deep below.
With her back against the door, she didn't rush to lock it; her hand behind her gripped the latch. If the person in the room truly couldn't control the mushroom-growing corpses, then opening the door could be an effective threat to keep in reserve. Nobody would want to face them in an enclosed space.
But for now, that might not be necessary.
The red light flowed over every surface in the room, including the face of the man lying on the floor. His cheeks looked as though they hadn't been washed in ages, covered in a thin layer of scales spreading from his mouth and nose into slightly raised, lichen-like rings. They were newly formed patches of fungus, densely connected into a film covering his skin.
His raised hand failed to reach its target, but it didn't drop limply either. His curled fingers, wrist, and elbow strained against some unseen force, his movement arrested halfway. Wartlike mushrooms clustered between his fingers and merged with the tendons, continuing into subcutaneous bulges like pockets of pus.
Unlike the people outside, who had lost their lives—or become the soil for another form of life—the faint movement of his clothes showed that his chest still rose and fell, sustaining a weak breath. His eyes were fixed and clouded; it was impossible to tell whether he was still conscious. If not for the glowing pendant, he would have looked more like one of the victims.
The professor didn't look capable