On the 49th day of the arrival of the gods, this modern city once named "Haizhou City" has completely turned into a huge cemetery.
The air was filled with a sickly sweet smell, a mixture of rotting flesh and mold. The sky is always leaden gray, and thick clouds hang low, as if they will crush this fragmented city at any time. The high-rise buildings looked like the gnawed bones of giant beasts, with most of their glass curtain walls shattered and making whimpering sounds in the wind.
Qin Yang was sitting on the cold cement pillar on the rooftop of the top floor, his right leg bent at an extremely unnatural angle—fractured.
The original color of the shirt on his body was no longer visible, and the dirty blood dried into dark brown, mixed with dust and dirt. There is a deep scratch on the left shoulder, which is a souvenir left by a "skinned ghost" three days ago. The area around the wound turned black and smelled faintly of corpse. It was the strange pollution that was eroding his vitality.
