Chapter Thirty-Three: Into Peril

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Although there was no sound in the deep water, the surge of violent bubbles at the abdomen spoke of the immense force behind the blow. The unfortunate special forces frogman immediately arched his back involuntarily, clutching his stomach. His body twisted and trembled, clearly wracked with pain.

Fu Yang was shocked. He swept his underwater spotlight across the surrounding areas, and what he saw made his blood run cold. In the powerful beam, dozens of rotten, swollen human hands extended from the lakebed mud—so many, densely clustered, at least a dozen pairs at a glance!

Fu Yang gasped, feeling chilled to the bone.

Everyone’s headset crackled with Ah Huang’s frantic voice: “The situation has changed—much worse than we predicted. Retreat! All four of you, head upstream. I’ll cover the rear!”

He had obviously seen the hands reaching from the lakebed mud as well.

The three frogmen had hesitated before, but faced with such a bizarre and terrifying scene, they knew they were outmatched. They instantly obeyed Ah Huang’s command and quickly swam toward the surface.

“Why aren’t you leaving?”

“Of course I can’t leave! Don’t say ridiculous things like that ever again.”

Ah Huang was moved. “Best friends for life!”

“Damn it! I like women…”

As the two bantered, the rotten hands in the mud began to thrash wildly, stirring up the lakebed. The water near the bottom turned turbid, obscuring everything in the murky gloom.

“Damn! It’s like a giant stirring stick. Ah Huang, do you think all these ghosts are protecting the corpse of the ghost lord?”

Ah Huang gave Fu Yang a thumbs-up. “Smart! Otherwise, there’s no explaining why so many ghosts are in the mud. They’re probably the poor souls killed over the decades, transformed into vengeful spirits…”

Fu Yang was about to ask if Ah Huang had a way to dodge these ghosts and drag out the ghost lord’s corpse directly. During the day, it should be weaker, so if they could haul it out of the water and destroy it, all would be well.

But at that moment, both their underwater spotlights went out.

Darkness enveloped them.

“Not good! Fu Yang, be careful!” Ah Huang shouted, tense. These were special lights—they couldn’t just malfunction. It had to be a ghost!

In truth, the instant the lights went out, Fu Yang realized a powerful ghost must be approaching. His palm, dormant for so long, suddenly stirred with restless hunger—the beastly mouth etched there could hardly contain itself.

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So instead of fear, a hint of anticipation welled up within him.

“Come on, you damned ghost. Let me eat you all up,” Fu Yang roared inwardly.

A cold chill crept from behind him. In the darkness where he could barely see, a rotten face seemed to materialize—blackened teeth, wriggling maggots, bloody flesh, and empty eye sockets.

A vengeful ghost’s apparition!

An ordinary person would have been scared out of their wits, but Fu Yang was delighted, exclaiming, “At last, another spirit-type ghost!”

He thrust out his right hand, fingers splayed. The beastly mouth appeared.

Whoosh!

Fu Yang felt his palm heat up, a faint wind rustling in his ears.

The vengeful ghost, poised to attack, had no chance to flee. The beastly mouth sucked it in, devouring it completely.

A cold power surged from his arm straight to his heart, where it lingered.

“Swallowed one! Amazing! From now on, call me the Handsome Ghost-Eater.”

He was immensely pleased. The cold energy inexplicably felt comfortable.

“Ah Huang, don’t worry about me. Bring one, I’ll eat one; bring two, I’ll eat a pair! My wife—ugh, my queen’s spells are truly effective.”

He was swaggering again.

But the other end of the headset was eerily silent—only the crackle of static remained.

“What’s going on? Ah Huang couldn’t have been snatched by a ghost, right? I’m fine, and he’s a trained Taoist, far stronger than me. How could something happen to him?” Fu Yang began to panic.

As his mind wavered, a cold, ribbon-like thing suddenly wrapped around him from behind.

Like iron pincers, it clamped him tightly; no matter how he struggled, he couldn’t break free.

“Devour it!” Fu Yang shouted, spreading his right palm toward his back. But nothing happened!

A shock ran through him. This must not be a spirit-type ghost, but a corporeal one. In that case, the beastly mouth in his palm was powerless.

“Damn! So spells won’t work? Well, I’ve trained in martial arts…”

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He reached for his waist and found clumps of disgusting hair.

It was one of those vengeful apparitions that had once attacked Qin Mei!

Though the lowest rank of demon, it was still ferocious. Its hair was as tough as wire; Fu Yang nearly drew blood trying to break free, but couldn't.

Worse still, he felt more of these ghosts swimming toward him, their strands of hair wrapping and entangling him.

“I’m not a mummy!” Fu Yang writhed violently, struggling like a woman throwing a tantrum.

In the struggle with these vengeful spirits, he made a mistake—

The “water-repelling talisman” pressed to his chest fell off!

Instantly, cold, surging lake water rushed into his nose, mouth, and ears, even stinging his eyes.

His mind went blank.

“Damn it! I must be cursed…” Despair flashed through Fu Yang’s thoughts.

With the talisman, he could fight these demons with all his strength. Now, forced to hold his breath, his combat ability plummeted, even his struggles grew weak.

Misfortune piled on—he felt a sudden tightness around his ankles, accompanied by a sticky, slimy sensation.

Two icy claws gripped his feet and pulled him downward, toward the lakebed.

“Damn! Even the ghosts from the mud want a piece of me?”

The sticky, slimy feeling told Fu Yang that those rotten, swollen hands from the mud had grabbed him.

In less than ten seconds, he was dragged by the vengeful spirits and the rotting corpses to the bottom of the lake, pressed deep into the mud.

From losing the talisman to now, more than two minutes had passed. Fu Yang really couldn’t hold his breath any longer…

He had no choice but to open his mouth.

Cold, putrid lake water flooded his nose, mouth, and ears. Driven into the mud by the corpses, black, sticky sludge also invaded his senses.

In such circumstances, Fu Yang’s consciousness began to blur; his mind grew hazy and muddled.