Endless Debt

From the outer edges of the cold rocks, to stepping onto the ashen land, until now, encountering the distant rumble... Bologue is sure that he is steadily approaching the core of the mystery.

The surrounding temperature has noticeably risen, the prior chill is gone, replaced by an almost unbearable heat, and the ruins sighted earlier have become more frequent; Bologue feels as if he is walking through a forgotten city.

A city buried in ash, existing in this deep Abandoned Land.

Regrettably, after ages of change and erosion, Bologue gains no useful information from these withered structures and can only continue moving forward with Aimou.

As the temperature rises, that intangible connection within Bologue grows increasingly tight, like a rope twisted tight, weaving into a rough line.

"Why can't we see those things that were thrown into the Great Rift?" Aimou speaks up, lingering behind Bologue.

Aimou, living amidst crossroads of uncertainty, during her limited free time, often sees people tossing things into the Great Rift, especially those gleaming Mammon Coins.

Yet, despite their deep exploration, there's nothing to be seen, only ash and ruins.

"Maybe they were eaten by something," Bologue murmurs in response.

"In this damned place, it doesn't seem like there's a stable food source. If anyone were imprisoned here, they'd probably be starving, praying daily for something to drop from the sky, preferably corpses or something."

"Why would anyone be imprisoned here?" Aimou doesn't understand, "A cell would suffice, why lock someone in such a place."

Bologue is silent for a moment, his gaze sharpens. Despite all the information gathered so far being fragmented, the solidifying internal connection, the umbilical cord linking him to the sinister...

He faintly perceives the root of the issue and whispers in an extremely soft voice.

"Perhaps that's not a person..."

Suddenly, a rumbling sound echoes again from the distant darkness ahead, the storm is coming.

"Bologue!"

Aimou raises her voice, loudly warning Bologue, who reacts promptly, already dashing towards a shelter on the other side upon hearing the sound.

As soon as he dives into the cover, a fierce ashen storm sweeps past, bringing both of them closer to the storm's source. Bologue struggles to keep his eyes open, spotting, amidst the grey storm, embers that haven't extinguished yet.

The reddened ash whirls and strikes the buildings, scorching the mottled walls, forming thick grey-white hard crusts, repeatedly washing over.

The scorching airwave lurks overhead, leading Bologue to doubt whether the entity sleeping in that darkness is not a giant but a gigantic Fire Dragon; its mere unintentional breaths akin to scorching dragon breath.

What's more perplexing for Bologue is that when the reddened ash lands on his body, the flames don't die out but continue to burn. Bologue has to forcefully pat several times to extinguish the stubborn fire.

The ashen storm persists, the blazing ash burying half of Bologue's body; amidst the burning pain, Bologue surprisingly feels a vaguely familiar sensation.

Bologue can confidently assure that he is no masochist, but he's damned to sense a trace of familiarity from this agony.

It seems at some point in the past, Bologue had suffered a similar punishment, though he can scarcely recall the details.

There aren't many things that can make Bologue forget, but regrettably, now is not a suitable time for reminiscing.

Amidst the roaring rumble, a fine cracking sound emerges, Bologue abruptly raises his head. Under the ceaseless havoc of the ashen storm, the wall above begins to tremble, fine cracks spreading through, causing the decayed grey layer to crumble altogether.

Bologue finds himself unable to shout any warnings; the heat wave hits him head-on like a powerful punch, thrusting him hard against the building behind. Holding his breath, Bologue twists himself around, thrusting a folding knife to pin himself onto the wall.

He successfully stabilizes himself, but with the protection of the wall gone, Bologue is directly exposed to the scorching storm, flames vaguely igniting on his body followed by charred skin, yet he grits his teeth and perseveres through it all.

At this moment, the folding knife in his hand starts to tremble, and the wall beneath Bologue begins to loosen.

The rumbling blade doesn't cease, Bologue steadfastly raises his head, facing the heat wave and opens his eyes, whether they be scorched blind he has to see that entity clearly.

Bologue sees it.

With the deep breathing sounds accompanying it, countless embers and heat waves are hurled high, forging a burning dim light column in midair, which soon collapses, scattering with a flurry toward the surroundings merged with the boiling heat wave storm.

Bologue imprints that direction firmly in his mind, afterward releases his grip, his entire body lifted by the heat wave, slammed repeatedly amidst the chaotic buildings until driven into a corner, where Bologue's collisions finally come to a halt.

Not waiting to catch his breath, layers of ash bury Bologue once again; not long after the storm ceases, Bologue digs through the searing ash, collapsing painfully onto the ground, his whole body trembling incessantly.

Thanks to the Undying Body, otherwise Bologue would have died countless times already; his present state is akin to just crawling out of an oven, laboriously getting up, his flesh and blood slowly healing, yet accompanied by the consumption of Ether, this self-healing speed is becoming increasingly sluggish.

"Twenty-two minutes," Aimou's voice rang out, "The interval of the storm is twenty-two minutes."

"Thanks, Aimou."

Bologue expressed his gratitude, he hadn't expected Aimou to actually record this, so now he knew that the next twenty-two minutes were safe, and he needed to move quickly and then find shelter.

After deciding on the next course of action, Bologue turned his head to glance at Aimou, and a dreadful face came into view.

In the recent onslaught of hot waves, Aimou hadn't escaped unscathed either; the skin-emulating coating on her face was damaged, exposing cold metal, and on Aimou's torso, the soft, semi-transparent gelatinous material had melted under the high temperature, resembling scabbed wounds all over her body.

She was like a bizarre sculpture, some kind of imperfect craftsmanship.

"The core components remain undamaged."

Aimou coldly responded, the halo in her eyes flickering.

Bologue felt that Aimou might be trying to comfort him, but evidently, she wasn't very good at it.

"I will find a way back."

Bologue could only promise, every minute was extremely important, but just as he was about to set off, the ground began to shake slightly.

In just a few seconds, the tremor intensified continuously, and Bologue couldn't understand what was happening; he wanted to flee, but in this damned place, he didn't know where to escape to.

"Wait a moment..."

Bologue saw something—a piece of ash soaked with his blood—and as the ground's vibration continued, the blood-stained ashes began to collapse into the earth one by one. Soon, all traces of blood vanished, as if devoured by the land.

The ominous feeling in his heart rose to its peak, and in a trance, Bologue heard a certain sound.

A wicked, frenzied voice whispering beside his ear.

"Fresh blood... The flesh of blood...

Unquenchable hunger."

The howling of the wind suddenly arose above, and something was coming. Bologue led Aimou away from this place, heading toward the edge of the Great Rift, and at this moment, shadows fell into view, crashing heavily onto the ground.

They were bodies, one after another thrown into the Great Rift.

They fell from the sky, shattering upon the earth.

Bologue swallowed hard, vaguely guessing what was about to happen, and as he expected, the earth trembled, crimson tendrils broke through the scorching ash, tightly entangling the corpses, their sharp mouthparts voraciously gnawing on the flesh, filthy blood everywhere.

This was not a cessation, but rather the beginning of another feast.

Crimson flowers bloomed from beneath the ashes, their petals edged with sharp fangs, the stamens in their centers extending out, grasping every chunk of flesh.

Under the entwinement of flesh, they appeared like flowers blooming on thorns, swiftly transforming the ashen ground into a sea of crimson flowers.

The flower sea spread continuously, about to reach Bologue's feet, and bodies continued to fall from above, turning into nourishment of flesh and blood, gradually devoured.

Skin, viscera, blood... even the bones were not spared by these sinister things, their sharp teeth grinding against the bones, the grating sound making one's teeth ache, until the bones were crushed into fragments, completely swallowed, leaving no trace.

Bologue leaned tightly against the rock wall behind him, holding his breath, only hoping not to be discovered; he certainly didn't want to be consumed by these monsters. But as the feast ended, these hellish things still seemed unsatisfied, their empty stomachs yearning for something to satiate them.

Bologue focused entirely on what was in front of him, unaware that from the crevices in the rock wall, crimson entities were also slowly extending, following the scent of blood, creeping toward Bologue.

With his nerves stretched to the limit, at a certain moment, as the flesh attacked, Bologue also became aware of them, forcibly slicing through a few tendrils with his battered knife.

Bologue dodged to another empty area, taking deep breaths to control his internal pressure.

The sight of this flesh was too familiar; not too long ago, Bologue had been slaughtering them non-stop, but Bologue was sure that this flesh was completely different from the ones he faced inside the venue.

Similar to the rotten roots and tendrils but far more terrifying and sinister than those.

"Is this why the Order Bureau is so resistant to the infiltration of the Scarlet Corruption Sect?"

Bologue murmured to himself, gripping the knife in his hand tightly, slicing the approaching flesh into thousands of pieces.