The repercussions of a seemingly simple forced true body mission were still beyond measure.
Some rejoiced, as always, while others grieved.
In a flash of golden light, figures returning in groups appeared in the quiet chamber. Yet the moment they emerged, some slumped limply to the floor, seemingly unconscious.
"Gang! Gang! Doctor! Where are the medics?"
"Someone, help!"
Amid the roars, medical personnel rushed forward and immediately took charge of those who had lost consciousness. Their expressions turned especially grim after checking for breath and a pulse.
Without a word, they hauled them onto the emergency equipment prepared nearby. Defibrillation procedures and the breathing apparatus fitted over their mouths activated automatically in a final attempt to bring them back.
After all, thanks to the Main God Platform's restoration, almost everyone who could appear here now fell into one of two categories: uninjured survivors, or corpses that had already stopped breathing.
Whatever else might be said, "He" apparently had no intention of swallowing up his users' remains.
But a glance at that unresponsive "minority" amid the crowd was still enough to send a chill down anyone's spine.
Many had clearly profited enormously from this true body mission, whose rewards far exceeded those of the usual mental login missions. Relief had left them eager to share their experiences with others.
Yet in the atmosphere now hanging over the room, the pride and smiles on their faces visibly stiffened.
Gradually, those expressions gave way to sympathy for others whose fate might easily have been their own, and an even greater measure of lingering fear.
Yes, the line between success and failure amounted to nothing more than the difference between standing and lying on the floor.
Whether their feelings were genuine or feigned, many now wore dark, complicated expressions as they watched the medics