Ron Irus woke up in a blurry space, except for a layer of soft earth like it had just passed through a heavy rain.
He could see nothing, because around the space lay only a pitch black color, it was not exactly black, but rather a jet black.
Bizarrely, he could not see further than 3 meters, standing up could not help either.
Ron had no choice but to check his body then discovered that apart from his clothes which had been burned to ashes, he had absolutely nothing left.
Ron had no choice but to pick up the torn pieces of cloth on the ground, picking them up then tying them around his arms. No matter what, that was also among the few things he possessed, leaving them behind in one place was very wrong, perhaps they would be used for the future.
Then he walked, but instead of walking straight ahead in one go, he used a thread connected down onto the ground, simultaneously he also used a charred thin strip of cloth to swing in front of his face, this made people feel he was truly strange and weirdly cautious. Truly bizarre, but anyway no one was here to look at him.
Ron was as diligent as an ant building a nest, both had to work to live, but Ron seemed more extreme, while the ants were more crowded.
Ron kept walking, walking forever, but after about a few minutes, he realized a strange thing.
He stood still, his eyes looking at the ground, then looking at the thread again, he secretly thought one thing.
'Snapped', about 3 seconds ago the thread lost its tension, 'Something is wrong'.
There was something, something that he could not clearly know, he only knew he would lose his life at any moment.
'I am stuck, what is the space here, what are the rules, is there anyone else besides me, is everything a mystery?'
If one had to plot then at least one needed to know who the opponent one confronted was, or wanting to survive also required knowing where one was and how things were.
'Wait, there is a way to know, should I?'
Ron picked up a bit of soil, sniffed it then put it into his mouth, less than 1 second later he spat it out of his mouth and bent over gagging.
He did not expect the soil looking so fertile to bear the smell of a dead rat, furthermore the sensation of the soil touching the tip of his tongue was entirely the taste of a sickening anomaly, feeling like eating a pile of dog feces mixed with human mucus.
Ron tried to rub his tongue against the cloth layer that still retained a bit of heat to wash away the existing disgust. But then he saw something he completely did not want to see.
Yet he vomited blood, wait, something was not right, blood did not gush out from his throat but from his tongue.
His tongue had been ripped apart by that very soil, his entire tongue fell onto the ground creating a deformed mass of mush.
"Ugh—Ugh~"
He tried to utter a voice, a cry, a shout, but then he suddenly went silent.
Because... he no longer felt pain, from the beginning he had felt nothing, his tongue had been destroyed right before the nerve receptors could perceive it.
But then how did he still know its taste?
Perhaps due to the inherent characteristics of this place? If the soil was disgusting from the start then why did he not perceive the foul stench from the beginning?
Ron did not know, but he realized another thing about himself.
'Why was he perfectly fine when touching it'.
There were many types of toxins that could be understood as causing toxicity both topically on the skin and internally, but there were also types that only caused it inside the stomach, as for this one, it resembled acid more.
Then it was easy to understand why the thread snapped, but simultaneously too many mysteries remained.
'Why is this place so bizarre? Why only after a period of time did the thread snap? Why did I walk on the ground without anything happening? Why only within 3 meters around me could things be seen clearly.
And why... is there a grand hall before my eyes?'
Indeed, before Ron vomited uncontrollably, there was absolutely nothing before his eyes, not even a mist existed, then suddenly a place looking like a square manifested right here.
At this place there were about a few dozen plaster stone pillars of a jet blue color, some long, some short, but generally all quite close to each other in height.
All of them were planted on an obsidian stone floor, without any design, without any iconography, just that where the soil ended, the obsidian began.
Ron hesitated for a few seconds then slowly stepped toward the hall, his footsteps heavy and visibly uncomfortable, closely resembling the feeling of a drunkard.
When his footprint landed on the piece of obsidian stone, suddenly the entire space seemed to freeze for a beat, then a series of colossal noises echoed, sounding like tons of metal clashing into each other.
And then, one second, just one second, dozens of massive chains wrapped tightly around the pavilion pillars, then they crossed over each other like chain bridges.
Forming the letters: J-O-E-J-O-A-T-H-A-N-E.
'Jojothane? Jojo Thane? Jojoth Ane? What the heck is this?'
Ron looked at that sight, involuntarily stepping back a pace, but then he bumped into something.
A bizarre silhouette, without clothes, a man's skinny body, but on it manifested a faceless countenance, without anything on the head.
Ron did not scream, he just stood still, standing quietly waiting, the shock along with instinct had by itself made him unable to utter a word, then he fell to his knees, tears streaming, his pants completely soaked.
While that faceless entity pointed his finger toward the square, Ron turned his head, he closed one eye, only exposing one eye due to terror.
And it was truly horrific.
Each piece of facial skin, each face of people very familiar to him, those were the people of the orphanage, all of them had been skinned and hung up like a festival flag, a trophy.
Ron could not utter a word, he could not speak, but it was such a great chaos.
Ron turned his body around, about to run when he was grabbed by his arm by that faceless fellow.
Ron decisively untied the knot of the cloth on his arm, causing that fellow to slip off his arm. Then Ron immediately ran along the direction of the thread away from this place.
He ran, ran forever in the direction of the thread, even when passing the place where the thread snapped, the end of the thread, he did not look back, running until he saw a glimmer of a mystical white light.
He ran for an unclear amount of time, not even thinking that he could run this far to encounter a white glowing silhouette.
And then he saw again at that white light, the faceless fellow was pointing his finger toward the far direction, behind his back.
Ron's face turned pale, trying to run back in the opposite direction, but then he fell, falling flat, like a loser, a coward waiting for death in horror movies, accomplishing nothing at all.
But he could not imagine, right at this critical moment, he saw a microphone pointing toward him.
"There are still 8 years left before the apocalypse, what do you think about this matter? Mr. Joe?"