Doomsday Wonderland Vol. 13: Sleepwalking in Dreamland

1593: A Chain of Dilemmas

Damn.

He had gone too far.

Not only had he gone too far but also inadvertently harmed himself.

Wu Yiliu buried his face in his blood-soaked palms, the slippery sensation slowly flowing down his cheeks and neck like liquid.

Perhaps he had entered a strange mental state under extreme tension and exhaustion, as he had none of the emotions he should have felt at the moment, but instead wanted to burst into laughter. The more he thought about it, the funnier it became. He was about to burst, his shoulders began to tremble—Wu Yiliu suddenly lifted his head and finally started to laugh loudly. The laughter soared high into the towering green trees, scaring away several flapping birds.

"What's so funny that it's made you laugh like this?" asked a giant rodent squatting beside him, bringing its sharp nose closer, its coarse and short black whiskers quivering with each movement of its nostrils.

Wu Yiliu even laughed until tears came out, and when he put down his hands, his cheeks were smeared with blood and tears, but he still couldn't stop laughing, shaking all over. He was sitting in a circle of giant gray-black rats as tall as two people, their bodies blocking out the daylight.

The stench of blood hung thick in the air, and occasionally there was a sound of teeth being ground, quickly passing behind his neck. The fur below their chests became more and more sparse, by the time it reached their thighs, it was as smooth as a human's. On their distinctly rodent-like long faces were human eyes, almond-shaped, with clear black and white divisions. Four or five pairs of human eyes were now focused on Wu Yiliu.

The second posthuman, the one who had just rushed back to stop the consular officer, who after being infected, produced mini-doomsday with these giant beings that were neither human nor rat.

The consular officer was special; he could generate corresponding pocket dimension content according to the destination on the visa—like "Wilderness Forest," which swallowed Wu Yiliu into a dense rainforest.

Ordinary posthumans, who could not produce visas, seemed to have pocket dimensions reflecting their own homeworld after being infected with the personal pocket dimension.

When this group of giant rats slowly crept out of the bushes, Wu Yiliu heard very clearly: the posthuman who came to stop the consular officer, standing in the distant forest, let out a cry of surprise.

"What's going on? How is this like my hometown?" he panickedly demanded, seeming to recall a long-forgotten nightmare. "These things, how can they appear here? Am I hallucinating?"

Perhaps the first world a posthuman experiences, no matter its rating, is always one of the deepest fears.

A giant rat squatting opposite Wu Yiliu lifted its head and sniffed in the direction of the voice—though it was an animalistic behavior, it seemed pretentious, like a human deliberately playing the part of a rat.

The giant rat laughed, revealing a row of square human teeth from its rodent mouth. "Isn't this Flynn? An old friend, nice to meet again."

The posthuman, who had never shown himself, suddenly let out a belch as if he had been so startled that he choked. Wu Yiliu had calmed down by this time, very tired, sitting in place, asking, "Even these creatures, have you dealt with them in your homeworld?"

That is to say, the personal pocket dimension he had created and released could visualize every posthuman's hometown world, turning them into pocket dimensions around them. Not only were they infectious, but they could also overlap with each other; one after another, various small doomsday worlds tangled and interwoven, like a kaleidoscope, like overturned oil paints, turning the place where he grew up into a chaotic world.