The Black Hand of Xuanhuang Town

The world shattered!

Before the horrified eyes of hundreds of thousands, an arm burst out from the earth. Terrifying power coiled around it, and merely looking at the endless aura of madness felt like falling into an abyss of insanity.

Souls were sinking.

It was a sensation beyond all description. In an instant, it was as though countless thoughts had been forcibly crammed into one's mind. They tore at the original soul, dragged it out, hammered it until it no longer had any recognizable shape, then took out needle and thread and stitched it back together.

Yet as they stitched, the thoughts made mistakes—sewing the head onto the feet, sewing the mouth into the belly. They even stitched themselves into your soul, until there was no distinction between you and them.

Once everything was done, they stuffed it back into that body.

Was that still oneself?

It was no longer.

It had been changed from its very roots.

Inconceivable screams erupted all around. They were no longer the wails of human beings. The cries issuing from those mouths belonged to creatures beyond comprehension, and those howls themselves carried an immensely potent power of corruption. They amplified the arm's aura of madness. Those who had still been holding on could endure no longer after seeing and hearing those sounds. An emotion called fear seized their hearts, and even breathing—the instinct life had possessed since its beginning—was forgotten in that moment.

They gulped in breath after breath.

Yet no air entered their lungs. Invisibly, it felt as though someone had taken hold of their lives and was draining them away.

That sensation deepened their fear still further. And once fear arose, their bodies became like seedbeds, infected and corroded by that frenzied aura.

Their bodies began to rot.

Pustules grew upon their