“How deep is this mud pit?” I asked him while backing away. The short guy, Feng, immediately understood what I meant and replied, “It can submerge this thing up to its neck.”

This creature has so many hands, all designed for climbing on the cliffs here. Even if it falls into the mud, it can quickly climb back up using those many hands. There must be a way to suppress it effectively.

As I continued to retreat, I led the King of Hell toward the mud pit and said to Feng, “Sister, go retrieve the grenade. There’s a pin on it; pull it out and then throw it.” I glanced toward the direction of the fat guy; his torch had ignited some black combustible material nearby, and I noticed that he was no longer in his original position.

I felt a sense of relief. If the fat guy wasn’t dead, there might still be a chance. I scrambled to my feet and began to sprint toward the edge of the mud pit, shouting, “You can’t catch me! You can’t catch me!” Gritting my teeth and enduring the pain, I surprisingly managed to maintain a good speed.

The King of Hell’s hands moved like a spider’s, working in unison and moving extremely fast, completely devoid of the stiffness associated with corpses. In that instant, I had a feeling that this creature might be different from everything I had encountered before.

Perhaps it was a living being.

However, the ground here was too difficult to run on, and this thing was enormous (if it were to ride me, I would feel like a pair of ice skates). It barreled toward me, and when it collided, I immediately changed direction and veered toward the mud pit. By the time I reached the edge of the mud pit, I still hadn’t figured out how to suppress it there. My only reaction was to make it fall in first.

As soon as I thought it, I stopped and looked back, only to find that the creature was already behind me. But its momentum was too great; it couldn’t stop itself and slammed into me.

I was sent flying into the mud like a piece of paper, instantly submerged. My feet couldn’t find the bottom, and before I could struggle, my neck got caught, pulling me out of the mud.

I had no strength in my left hand, and my right hand flailed desperately. The mud became my only weapon as I kept splattering it toward the creature’s head, hoping a few drops would get into its eyes. It remained unfazed, grabbing onto every part of me it could reach, including my head, and then began to twist my right hand.

With both hands broken, I was effectively out of the game; even if I wanted to fight back, I couldn’t do anything. I looked toward the distance where Feng was, and to my surprise, he bowed to me a few times before turning around and running away.

“Grenade!” I shouted. Feng pointed to a nearby rock where the grenade was neatly placed. It seemed he wanted me to go get it myself. My hand was contorted at an extreme angle, bones and ligaments creaking, and I struggled to twist my body to buy some time, shouting, “Fat guy, if you’re still alive, now’s the time to unleash your big move! The Germans can’t be trusted!”

Suddenly, I heard a voice from above, “Okay!” It was the fat guy, who had unexpectedly come up from behind, wrapped his arms around the King of Hell’s neck, and stuffed the grenade into its mask. I thought to myself, this is going to blow us both up. I yelled, “Leave me a way out!”

“I have my own ways!” the fat man shouted. “Damn it, open your mouth for Grandpa!” With a violent tug, the mask was actually pulled off. I was taken aback to discover that behind the King of Hell’s mask was not a head, but a piece of stone that was concave inward, covered with holes. It didn’t even have the basic features of a face.

“Is the King of Hell’s head made of coal slag?” the fat man exclaimed in surprise, but without hesitation, he began to stuff a grenade into one of the holes.

Watching his technique, I was astonished to realize that the ‘head’ was indeed just a piece of stone. Because it was hard, the fat man couldn’t get it in at all.