The streets were full of corpses and monsters, yet the residents here brimmed with the vitality of life. Even though the whole scene clearly felt wrong in every possible way, it somehow all fit together.
The living and the dead, magic and technology—if you could imagine it, you could see it here.
It was just that everything was exceptionally twisted and deformed. Even a tree could grow tentacles and prey on passing pedestrians.
None of the things on the streets could be communicated with, but Little Superman's super hearing still came in handy. No matter what kind of damned entertainment venue it was, there had to be music.
Following the grating noise that sounded like someone randomly banging on a broken gong, Clark led the other two to a basement. Though it had no sign, it looked like some kind of bar, because countless monsters staggered out of it as though they were drunk.
But once all three of them went downstairs, they discovered that it looked more like a slaughterhouse. In the dim underground space, lit only by torches, a massive meatball sat inside a fenced enclosure.
It looked like a person with pig-head-shaped tumors growing from its body, or perhaps simply a pig covered in human heads. Its malformed body stood more than ten meters tall, and colorful tubes had been plugged all over it.
The tubes were connected to taps. Whenever a monster customer ordered a drink, the headless dried-corpse bartender, dressed in a white shirt and bow tie, would turn one of the taps and pour out a cup of blue pus. Apparently, that was the alcohol of this dimension.
"Although I've never turned down any anesthetic before, I'm not drinking that." Harley curled her lip. If that fat monster storing all the thick liquid had