Within Tianshu, a room undetectable by any device.
The phonograph played soft jazz melodies, so pleasant to the ear.
In the midst of classical luxury, Ji Jue lay on the bed, feeling utterly limp, barely able to move. His body was emitting black smoke in sync with the phonograph's rhythm.
Treatment.
Wisps of black ash mingled with emerald flames floated off Ji Jue's body, adhering to the record, causing the melody to gradually become sharp and eerie. The soothing singing turned into a piercing screech, unable to continue playing.
The staff at the side, fully equipped with protective gear, carefully used tools to pick up the damaged record and put it into a specially sealed container.
The mist of corruption had been mostly stripped away.
Once the phonograph lost the record, it surprisingly began playing again automatically, sending people's consciousness into waves of hazy confusion, while sticky blood began seeping out from the phonograph.
