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It was pitch-black, turbulent, without skies, and without land. There was no sound; there was no life. There was nothing. Only Xing Yan. He curled up in this cold, dreary, chaotic space of nothingness and endured day after day, waiting for the advent of light.

It was within this darkness that his will was born.

He didn’t remember his name, he didn’t remember whence he came, he couldn’t recall his past, and he was also unsure of his future.

He may have been a man known as Xing Yan, but now, he was ‘Xing Yan’ in name only, a shell of this person called ‘Xing Yan’. He was merely a ghost born in the darkness, a devil born in the chambers.

He was indeed Xing Yan, yet he also wasn’t Xing Yan.

At long last, the moment where he could escape this everyday darkness arrived. But the price of leaving the shadows was to be stripped of his will. His mind was like a calculating machine implanted with unfamiliar commands, and for him, there was only one specific command, so simple and so clear—”Kill all creatures you see.”

And so, Xing Yan picked up his knife.

Eventually, he no longer possessed this so-called ‘fear’, as it was that cold machines didn’t have feelings of fear.

Finally, he no longer had to worry about Death’s scythe. After all, he himself was the scythe of Death.

In the end, he lost all emotions and ceased to feel love or hatred. Even though times passed and his body deteriorated, he would still be reborn from the corrosive soil.

His prey soon gave him a new name—’Stalker’.

The blade in his hand fell, and Death was born that very moment. Even if he returned to the radiant world of light, Xing Yan still wouldn’t be able to catch a glimpse of that light. Everything within his line of sight had only three colors: grey, black, and red.

Grey was a pale corpse. Black was the suffocating fear and dread. Red was the trickle of blood.

He didn’t know whether a genuine machine could become exhausted, but Xing Yan felt extremely tired. He was too tired to take another step, he practically had no strength to wield his slaughter knife. He thought, perhaps like this, he could finally be killed by someone. Just wait until he was unable to move a single muscle, then immediately after, someone could easily take his life. At least he wouldn’t have to repeat these senseless, mundane orders and tasks day after day.

Yet, why was it like this? It wasn’t enough just being tired. Xing Yan was still able to advance forward, he still had enough strength to kill all creatures that appeared before his eyes one by one. Even if his soul was exhausted, verging on death, his body still possessed more than enough strength, peerless strength. He was so powerful that he was invincible; he triumphed in every battle, succeeded in every undertaking.

The scythe of Death would never die, simply because he was a tool personally crafted by the gods themselves.

He couldn’t feel despair or hopelessness, but he was so very tired. Then one day, Xing Yan seemed to have been enlightened. Since these gods gave him the orders to kill, he decided he shall thoroughly slaughter everything he lays eyes on, to the greatest extent! After that, Xing Yan went berserk. He massacred everything in his path. It didn’t matter whether it was a living creature or something else, he couldn’t wait to annihilate all. He was like a nuclear bomb. Deranged, he wanted to end the entire world; he crazily desired the whole world’s destruction!

The chambers were forced to restrain him due to his madness. They confined him in that never-ending primal chaos and darkness once more.

But this time, he felt at ease.

Perhaps this wasn’t such a bad thing, sleeping for a long time, not needing to wake up again.

Unfortunately, God was never so kind.

Once again, Xing Yan was awakened by a thud—it sounded as if a hammer was striking the wall. Xing Yan didn’t open his eyes, but his eyelids could sense a shining light; it passed through that thin layer of skin and cast on his retinae.

Because of his keen perception, he was aware that a human was squatting in front of him, observing him. This led Xing Yan to increase his vigilance; his mind automatically replayed the first and final order the chambers assigned to him: to kill all creatures he catches sight of.

Thereupon, Xing Yan imperceptibly clenched his fists. In that moment, he considered countless methods to swiftly knock down and kill this human before him; he quickly determined his plan of action. But just when he was about to put his idea into practice, the human’s next action made him freeze.

It wasn’t anything really; the human merely stretched out a hand and touched Xing Yan’s neck with his warm fingers. The place where his fingers touched seemed to have captured that warmth. It was so warm that it was unfathomable. In an instant, Xing Yan’s heart, which had been dead for quite some time, seemed to have revived. For the first time, Xing Yan came to a realization—as it turned out, living creatures were actually warm!

Unlike him, unlike Xing Yan, they had a warm temperature. Xing Yan’s entire self didn’t contain the slightest warmth. He was exactly like the black-and-white striped serpent he was raising, just as cold-blooded and just as incomparably lethal.

Xing Yan never knew that humans could be so warm, but this was normal. Since he became conscious, he had stayed hidden within the darkest abyss. The moment he was released by the chambers, he picked up his slaughter knife to exterminate humanity. He subconsciously loathed those scarlet bloodstains; such a bright, vivid color shouldn’t have made an appearance in his monochrome world. And so, he began to use the cleanest, most beautiful knife techniques to deliver the most fatal blow to his prey. He was unwilling to be contaminated by that crimson blood, he refused to be touched by others.

As a result, it took Xing Yan until this day for him to realize living creatures could be so warm.

However, if killed, they would immediately turn ice-cold.

This warmth was burning. Xing Yan was brimming with nostalgia. But it was a pity that this warm temperature didn’t belong to him; he was just a cold-blooded killing machine, he wasn’t able to possess this thing called ‘warmth’. He was destined to live in a gloomy, cold, dark world, not one where the sun of the iridescent skies cast a brilliant shine upon all. Since this warmth could never belong to him, let him destroy it! For all things he could never have, Xing Yan was always filled with hatred.

Afterwards, Xing Yan opened his eyes, lifted his head, and looked towards that human being. The pitiful little prey thought that he was finally going to escape from this place; with his back turned around, he eagerly opened the door with the key. Excited, Xing Yan grinned evilly as he fished out the knife from his pocket. His footsteps were so light and graceful, his movements were so gentle; he gradually approached that unsuspecting prey’s back.

As a matter of fact, Xing Yan only needed this one knife and a bit of force, and he could easily cut off the head of this tiny prey in a flash. However, Xing Yan didn’t do so. While switching between ideas, he finally chose one of the methods he was heavily opposed to. He grasped the neck of that small prey from behind, dragged him into his strong arms, then stabbed the other’s abdomen with his knife.

His little prey should’ve been in quite a lot of pain.

Xing Yan lowered his head and observed the small prey’s expression; Xing Yan himself couldn’t feel any pain… No, it should be said that this body of his had already become accustomed to injuries and suffering; therefore, he was very much insensitive and numb to all pain. If not all, he hadn’t felt pain, specifically the kind that made one roll around on the ground from the agony, in a very long time.

However, just because he hadn’t felt it in a very long time didn’t mean Xing Yan couldn’t understand this sort of pain. He personally felt that he should be considered a good person because he always chose the swiftest and fastest method when killing another; it was so quick that even the deceased couldn’t feel pain; in fact, the other wouldn’t even know he was already dead.

Only the most perverse murderers were fond of cutting up their victims’ bodies, subjecting those poor victims to both physical and mental torment, eventually leaving them to die in excruciating pain.

Of course, Xing Yan occasionally liked that feeling as well.

It’s just that, currently, his small prey was fiercely resisting him a bit too much. Covered in blood, he forcefully shoved Xing Yan away and collapsed to the floor. The knife perforated the viscera of this tiny prey, causing him to bleed profusely. He would become dizzy, all of his strength would leave his body, and very soon, he would die from excessive blood loss. Xing Yan sauntered over and crouched down, abnormally and desperately wishing to gaze upon his wounded victim’s expression.

Xing Yan suddenly discovered this lovely little prey looked quite beautiful. The type he liked. His eyes were slightly upturned, and he was particularly soul-stirring when he slightly narrowed those eyes of his. With his black hair and black eyes, he resembled an adorable little kitten. But it was such pity he would die, ah.

When people died, their expressions would always differ. But in these chambers, most of them were indignant, at a loss, and reluctant. After all, every single person selected by the chambers had terrifying will to live. This fearsome conviction to survive allowed the players to exhibit a non-human side in the chambers. It didn’t matter if they were incompetent good-for-nothings in the real world, in these chambers, one absolutely mustn’t underestimate the hidden potential of any individual.

But this cute little prey’s will to live was displayed with an unexpected action Xing Yan couldn’t have possibly foreseen.

This little thing suddenly reached out and clutched Xing Yan’s collar; the other pulled his head down, lifted his own chin, and soon after, Xing Yan felt something warm and moist touch his lips. In that instance, the sensation within him was indescribable; it was as if a man dying of thirst suddenly had a taste of water after wandering through the desert for so long, or perhaps, how everything would get out of hand, how the situation would be incontrollable, unsalvageable, once a person got hooked on drugs…it was such an intense emotion.

Stalkers had no memories of their past; they had no feelings, no language, and they couldn’t even speak. They were callous, cruel, deprived of warmth. But at that moment, Xing Yan truly embraced warmth’s existence. Granted, Luo Jian’s unintentional kiss was malicious, a product of wrath, resentment and reluctance, an inexplicable and desperate move he made while his was delirious.

However, it was this very move that caused Xing Yan to be addicted to this drug called ‘warmth’.

After that, Xing Yan strangely discovered that this damned thing he was so obsessed with could only be found on his cute little prey. There was no other person who was capable of impacting him this way. Xing Yan himself couldn’t comprehend or explain this sensation, so he left Luo Jian alive, and ultimately, followed in the wake of Luo Jian’s footsteps. But this tiny prey’s footsteps were so fast, always disappearing in a blink of an eye; he would constantly flee to where Xing Yan couldn’t reach.

They had to be separated for so long every time they saw each other, but he still looked forward to each meeting.

It would’ve been nice if he could break through the barrier of this space. As Xing Yan drifted about in this dark void, he raised his head and gazed at the boundless shadows. And he thought to himself. If he had enough strength, he would be able to break this spatial barrier, he would immediately be able to go out and find that lovely little thing, touch him. Surely, he must still feel very warm.

Xing Yan closed his eyes, and the dreadful darkness consumed his heart.

This place truly was…too cold.