"I want to die. I stopped wanting to live a long time ago!"
This world had never lacked brave souls, nor had it lacked people who had lost hope in the world. As Budiman finished speaking, a scruffy, bearded soul actually raised his hand and shouted.
But the moment his words fell, a strange tentacle extended from the ceiling.
The tentacle pierced through his temple, curved upward, and transformed into an incredibly sharp metal hook. It skewered his head sideways, then lifted him out of the crowd as though it had hooked a roast duck.
The people whose souls overlapped with his hurriedly made way.
One middle-aged soul narrowly avoided the part of his head that overlapped with the other man's. Watching the sharp hook scrape past his forehead, he felt lingering terror in his heart.
Though he was now a soul, he had actually felt the coldness of metal from that hook just now. Its sharpness seemed capable of easily piercing his soul. Even without touching him, it made his soul ache with pain.
This was definitely an instrument of torture designed specifically for souls. It was simply too terrifying.
The iron hook hoisted the old man up, and amid his miserable, struggling screams, he rose beyond the ceiling and disappeared.
In the other two rooms, another soul that had lost its sanity and become completely muddled from the forceful impact was silently added, while a new soul replenished the previous number.
They still had more than ten thousand reserve souls like these.
Previously, they had prioritized young souls in the hope of giving young people more chances to survive, so they had not selected many older souls.
But that scruffy old man's soul had simply been too exceptional.
Among the thousand high-quality souls selected, he ranked within the