Chapter 731: Outlast Ending (Part 2)

“We created something similar back in 1944, and those ideologues mistook it for a deity...” the doctor continued his incessant rambling.

Yet, he also revealed the means to vanquish this phantom.

It remained incapable of existing entirely divorced from a physical form, requiring a symbiote; it was precisely this tethering that gave rise to the duality of consciousness.

The protagonist's objective was to terminate the life-support systems of its host, a desperate gambit akin to the legendary swordsman whose corporeal frame perished mid-strike, causing his ultimate technique to unravel entirely.

What lay before the protagonist now was precisely such an endeavor—to destroy the flesh and utterly shatter the entity's psyche.

Ordinarily, such a feat would be utterly impossible for an ordinary soul grievously wounded and pushed to the absolute brink, but the presence of the secondary consciousness changed everything; fleeting though its existence was, it would aid him, rendering the impossible possible.

At last, upon the flickering monitor, Fang Qi could be seen maneuvering the protagonist to evade the phantom’s lethal pursuit; the symbiote's life-support apparatus was severed, and the grotesque, shifting shadow hoisted the protagonist violently into the air before crashing him heavily onto the ground, yet with every passing second, its malevolent strength waned.

It diminished to the absolute nadir of its power, flickering precariously as if it could no longer sustain its own unnatural existence.

In the periphery, several elves sat clutching their snacks, watching the unfolding drama with rapt, intense fascination.

Suddenly, just before its final dissolution, the dark specter lunged forward and forced its way directly into the protagonist's body!

Amidst a chorus of shrill, helpless shrieks of absolute despair, the dreadful shadow successfully burrowed deep within him.

By this hour, having survived multiple falls from towering heights, the agonizing severing of his fingers, and an endless gauntlet of terror and torment, he had endured for so long—a single night that stretched out like an entire century.

Any lesser soul would have surrendered to madness long ago.

And now, with such an unholy abomination violating his very vessel, the journalist named Miles found his psyche teetering on the precipice of total collapse.

Whether his journey had begun from a wellspring of altruism, a righteous desire to expose wickedness, or a mere pursuit of a sensational headline, all of it had ceased to matter.

The vision on the screen blurred noticeably, as though his mind were slipping into delirium, yet he still shielded his video camera, desperate to salvage even a fragment of the truth he had bled for.

The sheer desolation and cruel irony of the moment struck a chilling chord in the heart of every spectator present.

Dragging his broken, leaden frame, he retrieved his camera and shuffled toward the exit, each step an monumental agony, collapsing repeatedly along the way.

Then, before the eyes of all onlookers, as he finally reached the threshold, the doors parted on their own accord.

Greeting him, however, were dozens of yawning, pitch-black gun barrels.

Standing right in their midst was the very professor who had whispered the "truth" to him.

The welcome awaiting the protagonist, Miles, was a merciless volley of machine-gun fire.

"Why...?!" Hearing the agonized cries echoing from the screen and watching those eyes slowly glaze over, everyone invariably voiced the same tormented question.

To have suffered so intensely, to have endured such horrors across the entire journey, only to be met with the inevitability of death at the end.

This profound misery and unyielding grievance resonated deeply within the players, who had tasted the game's terrors firsthand.

The grim reality was now starkly clear: this subterranean laboratory and the inmates within were all cogs in a singular, twisted experiment.

The experiment had spiraled out of control, and the phantom had slaughtered everyone inside, but now that the entity was neutralized, the mercenaries—originally deployed to combat the apparition—could safely infiltrate the facility.

The dark secrets buried beneath the earth could never be permitted to see the light of day.

"How could they do this?!" Xela cried out passionately.

The elves who had been engrossed in the game were now consumed by a tempest of conflicting emotions.

Within the encroaching dark, there seemed to exist only absolute despair.

Yet, another voice seemed to arise from the shadows, whispering, "My God."

"You have become the host!"

Miles’s lifeless body slumped to the floor, but at that exact moment, a dark shadow emerged, like a phantom breaking free from the cocoon of the flesh, transforming into something terrifyingly new.

"Heavens!"

"What is that?!"

The gathering elves shrieked in renewed astonishment.

The screen plunged into darkness once more.

Under the influence of that dreadful, transcendent psychic force freed from corporeal constraints, gunfire and agonizing screams coalesced into a chaotic symphony within the dark.

Only this time, the shrieks belonged to the enemy.

Every living soul was completely annihilated!

...

When Boss Fang finally concluded his session, a cluster of elves remained rooted to the spot behind him, utterly dazed.

One elf held a piece of snack suspended in mid-air, completely forgetting to bring it to her lips.

This game was undeniably a brutal crucible for the mind, yet in that final crescendo, alongside the sublimation of the protagonist’s consciousness, the players could vividly experience the sensation of a psychic power so vast it transcended the physical form, looming above all mortals and holding dominion over life and death.

Fang Qi could even distinctly perceive his own mental fortitude expanding!

As if influenced by that otherworldly, terrifying psychic energy, his eyes flashed with an unprecedented, brilliant luminescence, unnoticed by the crowd.

"Is that how it ends...?"

"So is Miles actually dead, or is he alive...?"

"And is this thing that just appeared Miles, or is it that original phantom?" Elder Xiwai, who was among the onlookers, inquired curiously as she watched.

"This game actually looks quite extraordinary..."

"What looks extraordinary?" Just then, an ancient, venerable voice drifted from behind Elder Xiwai.

"This game, of course," Elder Xiwai replied instinctively. "Perhaps we should continue playing this one ourselves."

"Play what game?" the old voice inquired once more from behind.

"The one the boss was just playing, 'Outlast'," Elder Xiwai said, pointing directly at the screen.

"Hmm...? Why does that voice sound so incredibly familiar?" Elder Xiwai suddenly knit her delicate brows, a wave of perplexity washing over her.

"What voice sounds familiar?" Captain Lancer of the Snow Dove squad inquired as well.

Suddenly, a collective tremor rippled through the entire gathering of nearby elves.

They turned their heads with mechanical stiffness.

Their expressions distorted into caricatures of pure terror.

"G-Great... Great Elder!!??"

Their minds went completely blank: what on earth was the Great Elder doing here!?

And to be caught red-handed at the exact moment they were discussing a game...

It was over; they were utterly doomed this time!

By now, every patron in the establishment had naturally taken notice of the commotion.

Approaching them was an elderly elf clad in a flowing, ash-white robe, possessing silver hair and a silver beard; despite his advanced years, his visage carried an aura of profound, ancient elegance, his garments and hair stirring gently without the aid of any breeze, flanked by a retinue of elven elders and guards.

The faint trace of fury hidden deep within his cavernous eyes resembled molten lava slumbering beneath the earth; the terrifying, tempestuous pressure he radiated crashed against everyone present like monolithic waves, making the very act of breathing an arduous task.

It was as though a pantheon of divine spirits had descended upon the room, deflecting any direct gaze.

The entire tavern fell into an instantaneous, dead silence.

"We're dead, we're absolutely dead! The Great Elder is going to unleash his wrath!" The elves were on the verge of hysteria; they had never once witnessed the Great Elder lose his composure, but now...

Just at that moment, a voice drifted over as Boss Fang pulled off his virtual reality headset: "Old man, here to surf the net?"

All the elves stared at Boss Fang with wide, bulging eyes: "!!??"

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Next chapter... updating this evening...

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