White worms covered the simple space in front of the prison guard's dormitory.
Beneath the bag-covered head, slight breathing could be heard, but it soon subsided.
The surrounding scene was disintegrating,
probably revealing enclosed spaces, guillotines, conveyor belts, counters, and so on, as if a special ga had just ended.
These [scenes] were not ford by domains, but rather "real materials."
After disintegration,
they were all packed in a box marked with a question mark, then stored back in Mr. Question Mark's palm, where there was a hollow structure, an ability seemingly gained from the La Walker he had once killed.
On the ground,
the head wearing black stockings was severed, falling off.
Thick, bright red was flowing, and the headless body was still twitching slightly, gripping a gun and a small knife tightly.
This Stocking Killer did not resemble Death Row Inmates or Divine at all, but rather just an ordinary dead human.
As Mr. Question Mark observed the corpse, he suddenly saw a strange scene. It seed he did not kill the stocking-clad man, but a book titled "Stocking Killer."
The book cover corresponded to the head,
the book content to the body,
and the flowing blood was fragnts of torn paper and loose threads of text.
Just as Mr. Question Mark was sowhat surprised, the scene suddenly had a police line drawn, resuming the appearance of a corpse, with several officers coming to secure the cri scene.
Then,
a tall, thin detective, wearing a beret and holding a cigarette holder in his mouth, arrived at the scene. He crouched down to examine the corpse, quickly reaching a conclusion.
"The serial murderer, Mr. ?, has started his cris again."
Upon hearing this,
Mr. Question Mark suddenly got a bad feeling, slling sothing akin to a [ga].
More real, more imrsive.
He sharply turned his head.
Indeed, the mont he saw the strange book scene, so special [change] had occurred.
Not only had the officers and detectives present changed, but the environnt also had.
This was an abandoned workshop.
The body and officers were all at the cri scene on the ground floor, the sound of police sirens could be heard everywhere.
Mr. Question Mark stood in a partition on the second floor,
observing the situation below through a window.
Suddenly,
the detective examining the corpse seed to sense sothing, quickly looking toward the second floor of the workshop.
By the light provided by the car headlights, he faintly saw the bag-covered head hidden in the darkness and the symbolic question mark.
The detective quickly drew his gun and moved to corner the second floor with the officers.
Mr. Question Mark, however, had no intention to flee.
He imdiately unleashed his ability to transform the room into a ga, causing the officers who broke in to die one after another.
The tall, thin detective fired a shot at a dummy, then had his throat slit by Mr. Question Mark with a small knife, resolved easily.
After all, these were rely humans,
and for Mr. Question Mark at this stage, they posed no challenge.
However, with the death of this batch of officers... sothing even more bizarre happened.
A strong feeling of an earthquake erged, as if the whole world was about to disintegrate.
The officers killed by the question mark, and the seemingly outstanding detective began to "decompose."
Even their guns and clothing were decomposing.
Decomposing from physical forms into words.
"Tall Thin Detective," "Ordinary Officer," "Handgun," "Standard Officer Uniform," "Light Brown Long Coat."
These words were pasted on the ground.
Shortly afterward,
the entire abandoned workshop completely collapsed, turning into flat ground.
The ground itself disintegrated into white paper, and the words began to arrange themselves orderly, forming sentences and related stories.
Even Mr. Question Mark was affected by the decomposition. He could feel his body becoming two-dinsional, with outlines of words replacing his body's structure.
At the sa ti,
two massive "hands" descended from the sky.
They looked similar to the outline of a human's five fingers, but on closer inspection, were rely structures ford by countless fleshy tentacles intertwining.
Interspersed between these tentacles were densely packed brain tissues, each brain like a fruit or a suction cup, covering the surface of the tentacles.
The integration of these brain structures made the hand more agile and characteristic of independent thought.
One hand pressed down on the pages of a book,
while the other hand split into multiple tentacles, drawing in a huge pen, seemingly about to start writing a novel.
Between the two hands,
above the sky,
there appeared to be an "upper-level entity" whose core was unseeable.
Its face seed to align with the image of an enormous library where all kinds of detective novels were stored.
At this mont,
this upper-level author began to speak, and each word and sentence seed to imprint directly onto Mr. Question Mark's surface, unavoidable, and the related content would inevitably be recognized.
"The [Death Ga] you exhibit and the symbolic question mark have given trendous inspiration for creation.
By killing the protagonist of my first novel, the story unfolds.
You, as a high-intelligence serial murderer, cannot make such a splash at the very start.
You need to slightly integrate into the role,
you have to act as the intelligence ceiling in this novel, setting up one death ga after another to target those vile individuals who flow within society.
Punish the wicked and curb evil with evil.
Of course, you also need to be cautious.
For the wicked people you intend to punish are renowned villains from my past works, so of whom are very dangerous.
I will carefully outline the entire story's background, environnt, setting, and all details.
The progression of the story is left to you, Mr. Question Mark, and the villains I have written to jointly accomplish.
Make sure you live a little longer, it's rare to have such a creative opportunity, I want to write a long novel thoroughly."
Feeling the ssage conveyed by the other, sensing the pressure from the upper-level narrator.
Beneath the bag-covered head,
Mr. Question Mark was not as surprised as expected.
He had a rough understanding of Death Row Inmates, having encountered the powerful ninth Death Row Inmate at the Divine Tomb.
A prominent figure like this naturally wouldn't be just a stocking-capped pervert.
Seeing the divine true form of the opponent so quickly could be considered a good thing.
Mr. Question Mark had previously gathered intelligence and decrypted information, roughly knowing so details about the Death Row Inmate before him.
Like Mr. Ito, the fourth Death Row Inmate, this ntis was a relatively special Upper-level Death Row Inmate, known as the "narrator."
Without hesitation,
Mr. Question Mark reached out and pulled.
A white long sword shaped like a ? was gripped in his hand,
leaping to slay the great narrative entity.
However, just halfway through flight, his body was forcibly dismantled, absorbed back, transford into the text [Mr. ?] and imprinted on the paper.
Buzz...
In a flash.
Mr. Question Mark had returned to the abandoned workshop he had just been in.
The tall, thin detective was re-examining the corpse, and as he lifted his head to look at the second floor, this ti, he saw no bag-covered head.
Mr. Question Mark chose "compliance," escaping the scene, hiding, preparing to begin the next death ga.
Since direct slaughter was unfeasible, he could only seek opportunities within the story, search for this Death Row Inmate's weaknesses or loopholes.
Of course, since the story was set by the other party, breaking the dinsional wall to kill the narrator was virtually impossible.
The [ending] for Mr. Question Mark may have already been written, only awaiting the turn of the page to conclude.
However...
From the start of his encounter with ntis, Mr. Question Mark had been acting "intentionally."
Deliberately killing the Stocking Killer, showing surprise deliberately, resisting until now deliberately complying.
Everything seed to align with ntis' intentions, focusing his attention fully on Mr. Question Mark so another matter could silently progress.
≮Participation card used, you have been allowed to interfere with an ongoing confrontation.≯
[Wu Wen]'s na quietly appeared in this novel.
These two characters seed hidden, seemingly capable of roaming among the paragraphs, disguising as different words, embedding in reasonable positions without impacting the sentence's original aning.
Without affecting any plot, without altering the story content, it was rely an act of disguise.
Between the constructed cities of stories,
a woman in a skirt outfit, wearing glasses and holding a textbook, seed to have just finished a class, walking down the street at night.
She bought today's newspaper, which was publishing information on [Mr. ?] committing cris again.
A red-lipped smile faintly appeared, the ga had already begun.
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