Dead Night Corpse Language

About This Novel

As soon as I smashed open the female colleague's eye socket with an ice pick, the dead captain asked me sinisterly through the communicator: "Are you the next sacrifice?" I looked down and saw that there were spiral ice patterns of sacrifice growing on my neck. In the polar night of minus 72 degrees, all members of our 18-member scientific expedition team became the rations of the "God of the Arctic". In the ten thousand-year-old ice beneath our feet, countless hands were beating frantically...

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