In American comics, drawing cards reveals wave-particle duality

Darkness spread in the factory. Murakami's huge body cast a huge shadow, but a deeper darkness was spreading from Jonathan's direction.

"Do you think you can defeat me like this?"

Murakami laughed wildly, but there was a hint of unnatural tremor in his laughter.

He could feel that the space around him was undergoing some indescribable changes.

The walls began to twist, the ground rippled like liquid, and even the air became sticky.

"Is this your power? It's just an illusion!"

Murakami suppressed the fear in his heart and swung his bone wings to attack.

Countless bone blades drew silver tracks in the air, but all of them passed through Jonathan's figure, like attacking a cloud of smoke.

Jonathan's voice came from all directions, with a distorted echo:

"The sacrifices you rely on are ultimately limited, but do you know that fear is eternal..."

The air freezes.

The next second, Murakami felt an unprecedented sense of oppression sweeping over his body, as if an invisible lead block was pressing on his chest.

He tried to raise his arms, but found the simple movement extremely difficult, like struggling in sticky mud.

The space around me began to distort. Reality was like an oil painting being kneaded by invisible hands. Colors and shapes intertwined into a sickening vortex in my field of vision.

This is not just a physical restraint, but also a feeling of suffocation that goes deep into the soul.

Fear materialized in the air, transforming into countless tiny, glowing particles that floated in the air before condensing into a sticky substance.

Murakami could see these particles moving across the surface of his skin, leaving bursts of stinging pain, as if countless ants were gnawing at his flesh and blood.

"Click——"

The space in front of him split open like a broken mirror. From the crack, Jonathan's figure slowly emerged.

But that can no longer be called a human form, but an existence made of pure fear.

His body was like a mosaic that had been shattered and then reassembled, with black matter constantly overflowing from the edges, forming twisting tentacles in the air.

Radiation circulated around his body, wriggling like a living thing. Those energies were not simply destructive forces, but the purified essence of fear.

They condensed into sharp blades in the air, and then turned into sharp spears, their shapes constantly changing with Jonathan's will.

Murakami felt as if he had fallen into an infinitely extended nightmare, a dimension where the laws of physics could be twisted at will.

Gravity is sometimes strong and sometimes weak, space is sometimes expanding and sometimes contracting, and even the flow of time has become chaotic.

Swarms of black tentacles attacked from all directions, their speed fast enough to tear through the air.

But the horror of these attacks does not come from the physical damage.

The surface of the tentacles is covered with fine barbs, which release pure energy of fear the moment they pierce the flesh.

This energy acts directly on the spiritual level and is far more unbearable than physical pain.

Murakami tried desperately to dodge, but in this twisted dimension, his sense of direction was completely lost.

The concepts of up, down, left and right became blurred, and he couldn't even be sure whether he was really moving.

The next second, a tentacle brushed against his arm, and suddenly, a deep fear surged into his heart.

Murakami saw his deepest nightmares reappear before his eyes, and the fears that he had deliberately forgotten came flooding back like a tide.

He tried to fight back.

Bone wings flared behind him, but in this dimension they looked so weird and distorted.

The originally straight bone blade bent into an incredible angle, and strange patterns appeared on the surface.

When he tried to launch an attack, the bone blade turned into powder the moment it touched the target.

Jonathan's laughter echoed in the distorted space, carrying a kind of twisted joy.

"You are from Japan, so have you heard of Infinite Tsukuyomi?"

The next second, his figure split in space, turning into dozens of identical phantoms, attacking Murakami from different angles.

Reality continues to collapse.

The ground turned into flowing liquid and the sky turned into dancing flames.

Broken fragments of memory float in the air, constantly reorganizing to form new nightmare scenes.

Murakami felt that his existence was being assimilated by this distorted dimension, and his body began to deform uncontrollably.

Countless wriggling shadows were surging beneath the skin, where Jonathan's radiation had found a way to invade.

Fear coursed through his veins and took root in his bones.

Murakami could feel that his consciousness was being corroded by this force, and the fortress of reason was collapsing bit by bit.

"No...this is impossible!"

There was barely concealed fear in his voice.

But Jonathan's offensive continued.

【Shura Field】

Under his will, space can be molded at will like plasticine, and the laws of reality are completely distorted by him.

The tentacles turned into sharp sickles, and then into sharp spears, their shapes constantly changing during the attack.

The space where Murakami is located has completely turned into a pure area of ​​horror.

The black tentacles weaved into a large net, surrounding Murakami.

Weird inscriptions flowed through the mesh, and these runes flickered constantly, releasing maddening whispers.

Murakami's shallow defense seemed extremely vulnerable under this attack.

The bone armor that he was so proud of began to crack, and traces of corrosion appeared on the surface.

Black liquid oozed from the cracks, emitting a disgusting smell.

He could feel his powers being assimilated by this dimension.

Kill him while he's sick.

Jonathan's tentacles instantly turned into sharp blades, wrapping around Murakami's body in a spiral shape.

Black energy exploded at the point of contact, tearing the flesh into tiny fragments.

Murakami's screams echoed in the distorted space, but became fragmented halfway.

But just when Murakami's body was about to be completely crushed, something strange happened.

An aura that was so ancient that it was unimaginable burst out from Murakami's broken body.

Under this force, not only did the space tremble, but dimensional faults also occurred.

At this moment, the void cracked into countless narrow wounds, and sticky purple substances oozed out from those dark cracks.

Purple mist condensed in the air, twisting into strange shapes that violated the laws of physics.

Countless tentacles intertwined and squirmed, densely packed eyeballs appeared and disappeared on the surface of the flesh membrane, and the pupils were in the shape of an upside-down cross.

The "beast"'s ethereal body was like a kaleidoscope that was broken and reassembled, with countless organs blooming on its surface.

As soon as it appeared, its existence directly oppressed the space to the point of distortion and deformation. Reality was like a burnt photo, with the edges beginning to curl and become charred.

The most terrifying thing is the indescribable aura it exudes - the embodiment of chaos and madness.