Chapter Sixty-Six: The Old Ghost with the Painted Skin

The man glanced back and saw behind him a monstrous humanoid figure. This creature was covered head to toe in black fur, a tattered cloth draped around its waist. Two horns jutted from its head, its face a ghastly blue, hair a fiery red. Its eyes, as large as bronze bells, glowed with a ghastly green light. It stood there, shrouded in gloom, emitting a chilling, sinister laugh.

Cackling echoed through the air...

That laughter was even more terrifying, sending chills down the spine. Two fangs protruded from the corners of its mouth, the very image of a fiend from the underworld!

What in heaven’s name was this thing?

A demon from the pits of hell?

The man’s gaze froze on the apparition. His mind shattered in terror, his very soul seemed to flee his body. He turned as pale as a corpse, his head spinning, feet unsteady—he nearly collapsed in a dead faint.

Hearing his cry, Cui Yue and the others turned around, their faces draining of color in shock and horror.

“That man—how did he end up inside the screen?”

“What kind of hellish place is this?”

Qingquan too was startled, his eyes wide as he stared at the screen.

“How can this be? In this film, could it be—could it really be?”

Cui Yue, Zhang Hao, and Da Zhuang looked at one another, then back at the giant screen. The scenes from “The Haunted Tomb” flashed across their minds. Their faces twisted as if they were about to weep, turning ghostly white. Almost in unison, they cried out:

“The Skin-Shedding Demon!”

Ah... help...!

The Skin... Shedding... Demon...

Qingquan’s face grew even graver. His knuckles cracked as he clenched his fists and ground out the words through gritted teeth:

“This fiend is a true demon. There’s little hope for survival!”

Before any of them could react, the screen shifted. The man on the screen, confronted by the demon, shook uncontrollably in utter terror. The demon cackled again, reached out with two furry claws, and with a swift motion, slashed open the man’s belly. Red and yellow viscera spilled out in a gruesome torrent, splattering across the ground.

The demon plunged a hand into the gaping wound, grasped the still-beating heart, and with one savage yank, tore it free.

Thump, thump... thump, thump... thump, thump...

The Skin-Shedding Demon opened its palm, gazing at the pulsating heart. Its eyes glowed an even more sinister green. With a sudden tilt of its head, it opened its jaws wide and stuffed the heart into its mouth, chewing greedily.

The scene unfolded in a flash. The man, watching his own belly torn open, felt a sudden chill in his chest, then nothing at all. He could only stare as the demon swallowed his heart whole. His eyes bulged, unable to believe what was happening. Trembling, he pointed a shaking finger at the demon, his voice hoarse with agony:

“You... you... you actually ate my—”

Before he could finish, pain overwhelmed him. Blood spurted from his mouth, and only a guttural rasp remained in his throat.

The demon swallowed the heart with relish, then flicked out a razor-sharp tongue to lick the blood from its fangs. It looked at the man’s dying form and let out a cold, mocking laugh.

With both monstrous hands, the demon seized the man’s head, opened its maw, and drove its fangs straight through the man’s throat. It sucked hungrily, draining every drop of blood, which gushed forth and poured into the demon’s belly.

The man slumped limply against the demon’s shoulder, his face frozen in terror, eyes wide and lifeless—he was utterly dead.

In moments, the body shriveled, flesh and limbs contracting, the skin dry and pallid, the features twisted in agony, limbs curled tightly inward.

With a casual flick, the Skin-Shedding Demon tossed the corpse aside like a piece of trash, not sparing it a second glance. It licked its lips with that pointed tongue, sweeping up the last drop of blood. The once-blue demon face was now drenched in crimson, a visage of unspeakable horror.

It seemed as if the stench of blood could seep right through the screen. Blood splattered across the glass, trickling down in thick droplets. The sound system blared with screams of unspeakable torment, making everyone’s skin crawl.

No one present could have anticipated such a scene. The demon on screen had ripped out the man’s heart and lungs, drained every last drop of blood. The sheer brutality was overwhelming. Except for Qingquan, who managed to remain calm, the other three shook all over, legs weak, drained of color in terror.

Zhang Hao’s face had turned ashen. Nausea roiled in his gut; he could no longer endure. Doubling over, he vomited up the two buns he had eaten, emptying his stomach until even bile threatened to come out.

Beside him, the burly Da Zhuang fared no better, retching so hard he could barely stand.

Cui Yue had seen his share of ghosts, but never one that devoured humans in so gruesome and terrifying a manner. This was a first, even for him.

“I never want to watch ‘The Haunted Tomb’ again for the rest of my life. Other people pay to see a movie; here, watching a movie costs you your life—snatched away by a demon, no less!”

Cui Yue’s face was deathly pale. For a moment, he had no idea what to do. He turned slowly to look at the bespectacled freak, hoping to seize this last straw of hope.

But even Qingquan, master cultivator and expert in demon-slaying, seemed weighed down—his face dark as frost, his features marked by fear.

Zhang Hao, having barely straightened up, gazed at the carnage on the screen, his heart pounding in terror. Only one thought blared in his mind: run! Run now!

He fixed his eyes on the big screen, but his feet edged backwards, inch by inch, as though afraid the demon might notice him and drag him in as well.

After retreating a few steps, seeing that no one noticed, Zhang Hao suddenly turned and bolted, sprinting for the exit without a backward glance. He dashed to the doorway in a frenzy, elated to see the latch within reach—salvation was at hand! He stretched out his hand and gave it a shove.

The door—it actually opened!

Without a second thought, Zhang Hao darted out. As he ran, he shouted at the top of his lungs, “Ah... help!”

All he could think of was escape. Yet, instead of finding a familiar street, he inexplicably emerged backstage, back where he had started!

Unable to stop, he dashed past everyone again, out through the exit, only to reappear from backstage once more. Round and round he went, repeating the loop several times.

The others simply watched, necks sore from following Zhang Hao’s endless circuit.

Well! This fellow’s will to survive was clearly stronger than anyone else’s.

When it came to running for his life, he was second to none!