Krafft's Notes on Anomalies

Kraft quickly weighed the cost-effectiveness of the door and the kitchen in his mind, and rushed towards the main entrance.

The knee-deep water greatly slowed down his speed. The door that could have been reached in two breaths took several times longer.

His shoulder hit the closed door. The door that was ajar as expected did not move at all. Instead, Kraft himself was pushed back two steps. A few drops of splashed water fell into my mouth, and it tasted fishy and salty. It was actually sea water.

Such a terrible seawater intrusion has never happened in Wendeng Port. Even if it did, it was mostly limited to the port and the salt tide area. If the water level of the hotel he stayed in had reached this level, not even half of the roof would be left in the salt tide area.

There was a roar of the door breaking and falling to the ground from upstairs, and the diffuse light illuminated the entire corridor on the second floor. Reflected by the water on the first floor, it illuminated the entire front hall, allowing Kraft to see clearly the door in front of him. .

There was no bolt on the inside, so he bumped into it again in disbelief. This time he heard the clang of metal amid the crash, the lock bouncing off the board and falling back down. The door was actually locked from the outside.

Now I can basically confirm that I was moved to a similar but different place in my sleep. This is obviously a hotel where the owner is not in business.

But knowing this would not help the current situation. The light at the top of the stairs quickly increased, and the thing's speed increased. It was rushing here, and the wet and sticky soft body made a heavy and disgusting sound as it moved.

It gave up its disguise and moved forward unobtrusively in the corridor. More than one of its boneless fleshy limbs flapped and stretched, making strange sounds of overlapping wet and sticky sounds on the ground.

The hard and angular structure above bites into the wooden board and earth-rock mixed wall every time it is photographed, destroying and nailing everything in contact. The sound of penetration and impact is continuous, piercing through the bones that should be contained inside. Muscles and mucous membranes form tissues that assist in walking and grasping.

All the softness is an illusion, to cover up the predatory part wrapped inside, the malicious and twisted side.

It is making its own voice, an undisguised voice.

The neighing sound was mixed with countless voices. It seemed that multiple vocal organs were vibrating, and there were a bunch of squirming throats emitting tiny whispers, one after another, back and forth endlessly.

Resonance and amplification form a gloomy song on several tracks like a choir. It contains laws that ordinary people cannot understand and is transmitted to all hearing creatures through sound waves in the air.

The song does not conform to human musical aesthetics. It always follows a low or high rhythm with the most inappropriate continuation. It lacks a leader to coordinate the individual performances, like a divided will where each fragment has its own tongue.

The uncontrollable irritability arises from deep within, scratching at the subjective consciousness. I want to draw my sword on the spot to split the source of the sound, chop it into pieces, and use all imaginable methods to destroy it. I can no longer endure the noise for even one second.

Kraft covered his head, feeling that the obsessive-compulsive disorder he had not experienced for a long time was acting up again, intending to control himself to realize the non-self thoughts in his mind and stop this voice.

He pressed his knuckles against the weak points of his skull on both sides, using pain to suppress this irrational tendency. The mind is filled with angry and noisy noises, requiring more energy to fight against its interference, and being unable to think about other things.

The blasphemous song was approaching, and the light followed it, getting brighter and brighter, to the point of being somewhat dazzling.

It poured down from the second floor, flowing on the surface and under the water, as if it had gained substance, moving in the fluid, spreading along the salty seawater, and surging toward Kraft.

The shiny liquid and flowing light converge into a shiny film-like thing in the transparent water, which reminds people of the difficult-to-remove grease on the water surface, signifying the deterioration of water quality, bringing about greasiness and the ensuing rotten odor.

The previously bland, pure white became jagged with uneven colors. Different whites are mixed together into a ball, and the gray white rolls out from the inside, like a wound with open flesh, or like a crack-like mouthpart under the flat epidermis.

Realizing that the target had no way to escape, it no longer tried hard to hide itself, but instead stretched out and slowly approached the stairs along the corridor.

The complex and noisy sounds are still echoing, transmitted along the periosteum and ossicle chain into the skull, carrying vibrations that confuse the sensors.

Kraft let go of the hand that was pressing his head, stood upright while holding on to the table next to him, pulled out his long sword and inserted it into the crack of the door, trying to pry open the door.

The craftsman who made this sword used the best materials at his grandfather's request, and forged and tempered it repeatedly. The sharp blade can cut through leather armor, and can even withstand metal regardless of how long it is used.

But obviously its design idea does not include the use of a crowbar, and it cannot cut open the iron lock in a narrow gap. The weight of Kraft's entire body pressed the sword into a large arc. If it continued further, it would approach the elastic limit, but it still had no effect.

He felt that he could not escape unless the boss built a second door somewhere. This suggestion can be mentioned in the next life. But as the saying goes, "When facing a beast, face it head on and look it in the eye...so that you can die with dignity."

Although the situation is slightly different now, the truth is still the same.

The educational environment of the alien soul formed his attitude of not being afraid of ghosts and gods, and he firmly believed that no matter what living things are, they will eventually die. Unless it was a whale, he didn't know any creature that could survive a blow to a vital point.

And the descendants of those who have been trained for a long time are not necessarily as familiar with swords as they are with pen and ink, and they have a bloody spirit that has not faded from the third generation of the family.

He gave up thinking about escaping and focused his last energy on making a more reasonable choice.

The anger aroused by the annoying noise, the courage that was transformed from the extreme fear of the unknown, mixed together brought a little bit of desperate belief, confirming the only choice.

Kraft straightened up and took a deep breath. The cold, moist air filled his lungs, cooling his body and mind at the same time.

The sword body that lost pressure rebounded and reset, and got stuck between the cracks in the door, making a metallic buzzing vibration.

"It's not made for wood."

He grasped the hilt of the sword tightly to calm the itchy trembling in his palm, and pulled the sword out from the crack of the door with his backhand. The familiar center of gravity made him feel at ease.

The Kraft of this world has imagined countless times what his first real battle would be like, and he would never tire of slashing with his training sword for more than ten years, hoping to gain a glory on the battlefield that would be passed down to future generations. .

He still remembered that he was fourteen years old, when his long body was finally suitable for wielding standard weapons. Old Wood handed him this specially made sword without a trace of smile on his face, and that look made him puzzled.

["I didn't want to give it to you...\