Not far away lay the carcass of a Siberian tiger that had already begun to rot. Its body was more than twice the size of an ordinary Siberian tiger, its fur was a complete mess, and there was a bloody wound on its neck with dried, dark-brown bloodstains. One of its front paws was completely missing, replaced only by bare, jagged bone fragments.
Such a massive carcass had failed to attract any other predators, and the surroundings were dead silent—so quiet that one could hear their own breathing. It made no sense. Not all animals here possessed spiritual intelligence, but even if there were no predators, there should have been flies. Yet here, there were not only no flies, but not even maggots, which made the whole scene immensely bizarre.
At this thought, a chill ran down my spine, and my sense of uneasy foreboding grew increasingly acute. I even felt an inexplicable panic, as if some terrible event was about to unfold.
Chapter 112