A long while passed before Undine finally suppressed her shyness. She spoke in a low voice, "How much longer until we walk out of this mist?" She despised the sensation of being contaminated periodically.
The other two girls turned their gazes toward Eros upon hearing the question. They shared her sentiment—especially Syphreya, who still couldn't believe she had actually fallen asleep under those "opportune" circumstances. As for why Eros remained uncontaminated, it didn't strike them as odd; he was a Sequence 7 now, so his resistance to pollution was naturally much stronger than theirs.
Eros thought for a moment. "I don't know the exact time, but I do know we’re getting closer to the edge. Didn't you notice today that the fog around us is much thinner than when we started?"
Undine thought back carefully and said with some uncertainty, "It... does seem a bit thinner."
Eros smiled reassuringly. "See? We'll be out soon. Now, get some rest; we have to keep moving tomorrow." With that, he lay down to sleep. The others exchanged looks before finding their own spots to rest.
The next morning, the group packed their belongings and set off again. Undine remained cheerful and lively, and after a night of mental adjustment, Joanie’s expression had returned to its usual natural state. Since her relationship with Eros was already different from the norm, her earlier shyness had mostly been due to Undine’s presence. Syphreya, of course, was her usual self. Only Ayesha followed silently behind everyone, head down, carrying her suitcase with one hand.
Finally, after another morning of trekking, they successfully crossed the threshold and stepped out of the mist. Looking back at the rosy fog behind them, Undine let out a long breath. "We're finally out."
Just as Eros was about to speak, Barbara’s voice rang in his ear. His expression instantly turned solemn, and he spoke rapidly: "Something’s happening to the front-left. We have to hurry."
He took the lead, dashing in that direction. Though the others were confused, seeing Eros so serious, they prepared for battle and followed closely behind.
In a dark, twisted grove of withered trees, a petite girl with golden twin-tails held a scalpel, her expression cold as she moved through the gaps between a dozen evil spirits. She tilted her body to dodge a claw from the left, spun around, and skillfully sliced a gash into a spirit’s chest with her right hand.
Dark green blood splattered onto her, and wisps of acrid, burning smoke rose from her skin. The girl groaned, but her cold expression didn't flicker—she moved like an emotionless machine. The spirit with the slashed chest continued its pounce; a single cut was clearly not enough to stop such a resilient creature.
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As the spirit lunged, the girl leaped into the air, kicking the chest of another spirit that had crept up behind her, sending it reeling back several meters. Borrowing the counter-force, she flew toward the wounded spirit. Mid-air, she adjusted her position and delivered a brutal knee-strike to its head. The spirit collapsed; without hesitation, the girl drove her scalpel deep into its skull. It thrashed a few times before falling still.
However, as she tried to pull the scalpel out to face the next attack, the blade got stuck in the skull. In that split second, she couldn't wrench it free. Attacks from behind were closing in, yet her expression remained impassive. She shifted her stance, taking a heavy blow from a spirit squarely on her back. The massive force sent her flying, but using the momentum, she successfully ripped the scalpel out.
The girl hit the ground and rolled several times before stopping. Her already tattered clothes gained more holes, but what peeked through was not smooth, white skin. Instead, it was a cluster of iron-gray, coldly staring eyes.
She struggled to crawl up, coughing violently and spitting out a mouthful of mangled flesh filled with those same iron-gray eyes. Gasping for air, she watched the dozen spirits closing in. Without hesitation, she pulled out a metal cigarette case, flipping it open to reveal a single, pupil-less, iron-gray eye inside.
"Petrify!" her voice rang out, cold yet weak.
A grayish-blue light shot out from the eye. Instantly, the movements of the spirits froze. Simultaneously, another iron-gray eye squeezed out from her own fouled but still beautiful cheek. The girl ignored the mutation; her expression remained frost-like. She knew the power of the Eye of Petrification wouldn't last long. She had to use this chance to eliminate as many spirits as possible to reduce the pressure.
Ignoring the agonizing pain in her body, she gripped her scalpel and lunged at the spirits with all her speed. But her injuries were too severe. Just as she reached a spirit and prepared to end its life, she fell into another fit of violent coughing. With every cough, two or three iron-gray eyes were spat out.
Realizing she couldn't waste more time, she forced down the urge to cough, swallowing the eyeballs that had surged into her mouth. She drove the scalpel into the spirit’s brain. She managed to kill two this way, but as she moved toward the third, a wave of dizziness hit her. Her vision blurred, her footsteps faltered, and she collapsed to the ground.
At that moment, the power of the Eye of Petrification reached its limit. The spirits regained their mobility. The girl watched them with indifference, knowing her end had come. As the spirits lunged to feast on her flesh, her eyes remained devoid of emotion—terrifyingly cold.
Then, a gunshot echoed from nearby.
In the next second, the head of the spirit closest to her exploded. A rapid succession of gunshots followed. The spirits that had driven her to the brink of death now seemed as weak as newborn lambs under the gunfire, wiped out in a heartbeat.
Looking at the man who had walked over and knelt beside her, the girl suddenly threw her scalpel aside. She threw her arms around him and wailed:
"They're dead! They're all dead! Everyone is dead... I'm the only one left in the whole class!"