Cat Plays with Mouse (2)

The forest was pitch black, so dark one could not see their own hand in front of their face.

The crescent moon, the only thing that could serve as a "lamp," was blocked by the interlocking leaves, unable to penetrate the woods or provide even a sliver of light to this patch of forest.

The man who had run to this spot looked at the pitch-black path ahead, feeling a sense of dread.

His foot involuntarily retreated a step, bumping into the companion behind him.

Turning back, he saw his companion's surprised expression; he swallowed hard and pulled his retreating foot back into place.

"Are... are we really going in?"

He couldn't shake the feeling that some unknown beast or monster was hiding inside.

His mind couldn't help but replay the gossip and legends he had heard in town during the day.

Legend had it that a man-eating beast was hidden in the woods outside the town.

It looked like a man yet like a ghost, with a mouth full of fangs and solid white eyes, devoid of pupils.

Its arms were long and thin, hanging down to its knees.

Its claws were sharp enough to easily pierce through a meter of solid stone.

It loved to feast on fresh blood, especially the blood of young men.

Having just turned twenty-six, the man thought, Isn't the monster's menu describing a poor wretch like me?

Moreover, this creature preferred darkness over light.

Looking at the gloomy interior of the forest, truthfully, he didn't want to go in.

He didn't want to become the monster's meal!

"Hey, what are you thinking about?"

The person behind him shoved him, asking with a strange look on his face.

"You're this old and still afraid of the dark? No way, then how did you become a mafioso?"

...Although, wait, can't a mafioso be afraid of the dark?

What kind of professional discrimination is this?

"You... have you forgotten about the monster that group of people mentioned during the day?"

The man's voice trembled, his pupils constricted, and his whole body shivered.

He dared not move forward.

"?"

The person behind him looked puzzled for a moment, then scoffed, "You don't actually believe that, do you? How could such a beast exist in the suburbs of such a large city?"

As he spoke, he showed no fear, not even taking his eyes off the man to look at the path ahead as he walked forward.

"Look, what could possibly happen? Don't forget, even if this place is remote, it's still the suburbs of a major city where the Heavens Arena is located."

It was impossible for a beast to exist here.

Even if one did, it would have long since been driven away by the city administrators.

Seeing his companion walk straight in without a scratch, the man was convinced.

He walked inside, trembling.

Belief was one thing, but fear was still fear.

His eyes darted around involuntarily, terrified that if he wasn't careful for even a second, he would lose his life.

Honestly, he had always known that being a mafioso was dangerous.

But why would he end up not dying in a gang shootout, but in this pitch-black place, unsure if there were even any beasts lurking about?

In the end, he might not even have a complete corpse left, having been swallowed into the monster's belly.

After walking for about a quarter of an hour, the man slowly let out a sigh of relief.

Thank goodness, thank goodness, there's no such thing as a monster here.

It was just silent and dark.

Flap.

Suddenly, a strange sound echoed through the dark jungle.

The man turned around like a startled bird, his eyes wide.

He realized it was just a crow flapping its wings.

It was a false alarm, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

The man in front, seeing his cowardly appearance, couldn't help but mock him: "See? Nothing happened, did it? Let's hurry up and find the person!"

Otherwise, if the higher-ups blame us, none of us will have a good time!

The man speaking didn't notice the thin threads gradually multiplying all around them.

He kept talking to himself, walking on his own.

Until...

Rip.

A faint sound rippled through the air.

None of the people walking along heard it.

The sound was far too subtle.

"Why have you stopped moving?"

Finally, one of the more curious individuals asked the question.

The person walking in front was right there, motionless.

Even their expression remained exactly as it had been minutes before.

They looked just like a wooden puppet.

Receiving no response, the person couldn't help but reach out to touch them.

Thud.

The head hit the ground.

Swish.

A strange sound echoed nearby.

The headless corpse instantly rose into the air, only to be torn limb from limb.

The severed limbs hung half a meter above them, blood trickling down invisible, thin threads.

A pattering "red rain" dripped onto their faces.

Dull, unresponsive.

Time seemed to have ground to a halt.

These people stood frozen, unable to move.

Their pupils contracted sharply, unable to believe what they were seeing.

Their legs trembled uncontrollably.

They opened their mouths, but could not make a sound.

They wanted to move, but their bodies refused to obey.

They stood rooted to the spot like statues.

They should have run, they should have escaped!

This thought circled in their minds, yet not a single person's body followed this perfectly logical command.

Their brains had already triggered an emergency defense system due to the sheer bloodiness and horror of the scene.

Their muscles were so tense that they were physically incapable of movement.

Perhaps a second had passed, or perhaps a century.

No one could tell.

But finally, a piercing scream erupted from the forest.

It startled a flock of birds into flight.

As if just jolted awake, the group scrambled to flee in a panic.

Unfortunately, it was too late.

The meticulous artist had long since laid out this canvas, waiting patiently for the raw materials to arrive.

How could they possibly let these little darlings get away?

Thin threads coiled like Spider silk.

With almost every step they took, someone's legs were severed by the wires.

The cuts were clean, accompanied by a scream of agony.

Immediately after, those who fell to the ground in pain were ensnared by other threads from below and hoisted into mid-air.

With a soft sound, they were torn apart.

Blood flowed, slowly soaking the ground red.

The lush green grass gradually transformed into a pool of crimson pigment.

The death toll continued to rise.

Some of the luckier ones managed to avoid those lethal threads.

Their limbs were not violently dismantled, yet they were still strung up high.

Sobbing and whimpering.

Wailing from above.

His face was etched with terror and disbelief.

Why, why on earth was this happening?!

What even was this?

He couldn't move a muscle, his entire body suspended in a grotesque posture.

Missing arms and legs, not a single limb remained intact.

The expression on his face shifted from dread and fear to agony and despair.

He was hanging three meters off the ground; if he fell, in his current mangled state, he might very well be dashed to death.

And if he stayed hanging, he would bleed to death.

Powerless, he could only howl.

Over and over, he asked himself why he had been so obsessed with chasing that child.

Why had he listened to that disgraced captain instead of honestly patrolling his territory according to the gang's rules?

Was currying favor really that important?!

Regret and remorse consumed his heart.

Over and over, it felt like being sliced to pieces, a self-inflicted torture.

But soon, his mind was wiped blank by a surge of intense pain.

He realized with horror that those previously stationary thin threads had suddenly begun to tighten.

It was as if they wouldn't rest until they had crushed him alive.

Yet, the process was agonizingly slow.

With every second, the thin lines sank deeper into his flesh, but they were not meant to kill.

They merely sliced through skin and muscle.

Bit by bit, they invaded his body.

The victim could only watch helplessly as his once-intact arm turned red and purple from the lack of circulation.

Finally, it went numb with pain.

Then, in the next second, it was severed clean off.

Following that, the freshly severed limb was dragged to another spot.

It hung there, high above, as if being air-dried.

Though only a few minutes had passed, the man felt as if centuries had gone by.

And this same pain was playing out, piece by piece, all over his body.

He would have been better off as one of those "lucky ones" who were cut down cleanly!

Suddenly, as his mind wandered, he felt a sharp pain in his neck.

A thought involuntarily surfaced in his mind.

Has it reached my neck?

Am I going to die?

Thank goodness!

For the first time, he craved his own death.

He longed to go to hell, to no longer live in this living purgatory!

Compared to a clean, swift decapitation, this pain of a dull blade grinding through flesh, severing his limbs bit by bit, was unbearable!

Especially when all of this was happening while he was fully conscious!

Hurry, please, just let me die!

Every second he remained alive was a torture.

Gradually, his breathing grew labored, his vision blurred.

His consciousness began to drift.

Is this the end?

Thank goodness...

In a daze, the man heard a voice, impossibly young and delicate, ring out.

"In the spider's lair, death is a mercy."