I Print Counterfeit Money in the Land of the End

Blood. Its rusty taste and thick, rancid stench poured down his throat like cheap oil, choking off his breath. Luo Bai gasped, only for the foul odor to make his vision go black and his ribs ache dully. He forced open his heavy eyelids. His vision seemed veiled in a film of blood. Beneath him was cold, rough concrete, its grit scraping his skin. High walls surrounded him, rising to the murky, lifeless gray sky overhead. The light was as meager as the phosphorescence in a tomb, barely illuminating the broad splashes of ink-black, long-dried blood on the walls and ground. That rusty smell came from here