"Fuck!"
A human forearm stretched out from the fireplace, its fingers long and slender, curled like chicken claws.
Charles stared hard at it, horror surging through him. "What the hell is that thing?!"
That pale forearm was as white as the hand of someone dead for seven days.
That was not even the most crucial part. The palm was not large, proportionate to the forearm.
Yet it had ten fingers growing from it—eight sprouted directly from the palm, while even the thumb had forked, growing two additional fingers.
The sight made Charles's own fingers itch.
The forearm extending from the fireplace dust swayed slightly.
And beneath it, within that pile of dust, something still seemed to be thrashing constantly.
Strands of dust kept billowing up.
Charles could not stop himself from swallowing dryly as he slowly edged backward.
All he prayed for now was that the owner of that forearm and palm would not notice him.
After retreating more than twenty meters, the chill at the back of his neck gradually faded.
Charles glanced behind him, intending to slip into Quake's room, shut the door obediently, and wait until later before coming back out.
But with that one glance, things went wrong!
The forearm Charles had not been watching abruptly stretched out again, kicking up a great cloud of ash. It even struck the top of the fireplace.
"Clatter!"
The sound from not far away made Charles's heart leap into his throat.
His gaze snapped back to the fireplace.
What he saw sent cold air rushing up his back and neck.
The hairs on his spine and arms stood on end!
Up ahead, the forearm that had only been swaying slightly from the fireplace had now extended to at least one and a half meters!
Yet even at that length,