Yellow Shirt Fatty

Dear tired Reader, it is an honor that you have chosen this book amidst the heavy, gloomy aisles of the Library.
It is with some regret, however, that I must inform you this book is ill.
Your fingers should be able to feel the raised Proliferation of tissues on the surface of the Skin of the book, 
The words written in days of old are like Parasites taking root in the pages, longing for someone to observe their writhing,
To sense, to decipher, and to touch the very essence of this sick story.
If you insist on borrowing this book, please be sure to regularly check your own physical condition.
Keep in mind.

The Gentleman at the End

among the countless bones piled up in the caves, sat an ancient existence, invisible, inaudible, and unsmellable. For within every plane of existence, it had completely died.


The concept of its existence resided in another dimension that was fully consumed by Death,


and with the Sensing of Death, it watched a minor amusement unfolding in the 'infected world' across the barriers between worlds.


After all, it had been many years since any amusement had arisen, and He seemed somewhat bored, paying a bit of attention to pass the time, even though time too would perish in His presence.


Meanwhile, He spread this amusement through the form of black mist, allowing all the dead within the Original Tomb to inhale this mist to watch the 'live broadcast'.


When He saw the rare Black Death Thunder strike down in another world, hitting an Apprentice Knight, this ancient entity even spoke the dead man's name.


Chapter 357: Endgame