Super Righteous Player

The Night Has Come, and kermesinus moon ascends in the sky. Hoarse whispers flow at the street corners, and brass steam machines spew out bloody mist. Your brain is singing a hymn, eyes are chanting a melody. Skin cracks, and flesh buds swell. Amidst the Mist, the wall of flesh that has devoured thousands of corpses wails endlessly— "Weep not, our players don't bite, they just want to play with you." Annan, the lone strategist, the top player, the savior of the mist-covered continent, the leader of the Thirteen Saints, the friend of the Twelve True Gods, the king of pioneers, "the Just", the Gatekeeper of the Fourth Calamity, the uncrowned deity, advised kindly.

Not praying for ten strings · ACG

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661 Chs

Chapter 427: I am Sisyphus_1

Not even light, only the abyss of rotting, stench-ridden blood.

So-called "companions" who couldn't even utter a word.

That was the hell where all was absent.

Beyond the fragile threads of a spider's web, not a half-step could be borrowed.

——The true, inescapable deadlock.

Only when "he exerted all his strength and then failed," would a second of time pass.

Beyond that, there was nothing to interact with, nothing to investigate; no force to wield, not even an objective for completion provided.

It simply had him repeat failure.

Just like the suffering Sisyphus once endured.

Annan was convinced that this was indeed a most exquisite trap.

For even here, with limitless physical strength——even falling from great heights, one could immediately revive; but the human spirit will still wear out in the end.

It wasn't tiredness.

It was numbing to despair... directly destroying all the wits of a soul from the spirit up.

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