Endless Debt

Under the power of the Tyrant, both Bologue and Palmer received magical protection, and as if time had reversed, their conditions returned to peak, even their weary spirits grew excited once more, like they had been injected with adrenaline, their hearts pounding fiercely.

"I feel like I've vomited up all my innards."

Palmer's eyes were dazed, his consciousness hovering between comatose and awake. He took only a few steps before clutching his chest and howling, "It hurts, I feel like I've been beaten up."

He was completely unaware of how dire his previous state was, nor did he realize the Tyrant had come by. If there was a mirror now, Palmer would discover he had become a blood-soaked figure.

Palmer glanced at Bologue, his eyes suddenly lighting up.

"Where did you get that?"

Saying this, Palmer grabbed the orange juice from Bologue's hand, and drank the remaining half in one go.

In such a deadly predicament, obtaining a chilled cup of orange juice made Palmer feel like his soul was being saved.

Bologue's expression was somewhat complex, a few minutes ago Palmer was on the brink of death, yet now he was lively again, and he didn't even ask where Bologue got the juice—whether it was actually orange juice or some liquid resembling it.

Chaotic thoughts flashed by, and Bologue was too lazy to question Palmer, as communicating excessively with a fool would only turn oneself into a fool.

"Aimou, are you okay?" Bologue asked.

"Uh… there's a strange power enveloping my body."

Aimou was particularly sensitive to Ether, unlike the carefree Palmer, she had long ago detected the Tyrant's protection.

The exhausted Ether was quickly replenished, and their weary spirits regained excitement—various anomalies occurred among them, and it was directly linked to the Devils.

This reminded Bologue of the covenant that bound the Crimson Cult and the Gray Trade Association; they had made some kind of agreement with the Devils, obtaining their protection through the binding of a covenant.

Bologue hadn't signed the covenant, neither had Aimou and Palmer. The power of protection on them at this moment was just a temporary agreement.

Bologue needed the power to escape with his life, while the Tyrant needed an executor to temporarily resolve some troublesome matters for him.

But was there really no cost? Bologue didn't believe it.

For Bologue, the so-called cost was the deepening connection with the Devils. Previously he needed to use Mammon Coin to actively summon the Tyrant's presence, but now the Tyrant could actively appear before him.

Of course, this might be related to the area he was in, since it was the Tyrant's territory. Nevertheless, excessive interaction with the Devils made Bologue feel a bit vigilant, though it was necessary.

Dancing with wolves.

"Though I don't know exactly what happened, it seems the Delusional was stopped."

Palmer also noticed the power within him, viewing it as the Tyrant's reward for their efforts in battle. He looked up at the opening above, the crimson blood hole still dripping blood as countless branches clawed and fumed.

Bologue also looked up, as it seemed to be true, the Delusional was lost within the creature's body, the intricate flesh slowing his pace, giving them a chance to breathe.

"Don't relax, we're not out of danger yet."

Unlike Palmer's optimism, Bologue remembered the Tyrant's words.

A difficult trouble will confront them next, the same trouble the Tyrant noted, for this reason, the Tyrant willingly protected them to conquer the formidable foe.

The power of the Devils was needed to defeat such a formidable foe.

Bologue's mood was already tense, the Deceitful Snake Scale Liquid coiling around his arm, forming a slender Blade in his hand.

His other hand grasped the Round Shield to cover his body, adopting a sword and shield stance as he cautiously moved deeper into the darkness.

In the escape from the Delusional's pursuit, Palmer had exhausted all his ammunition. Now, the only weapons left were a few Flying Knives he carried.

As an Undead, Bologue walked at the forefront, while Palmer followed behind, gripping the Flying Knives, ready to throw them into the whirlwind at any moment.

The air, thick with dust, was permeated with the scent of blood, which grew more intense as they delved deeper.

"There's wind," Palmer suddenly said, "There's a road leading to the outside here."

Palmer keenly detected the influx of air currents, which for them was undeniably good news; they could finally escape this deadly situation.

They continued forward, towering stone columns emerging in sight, carved with fighting demonic gods, arrayed in arches along the roadway.

Bologue tried to walk to the edge of the columns; below lay aboundless darkness of the Abyss, seemingly they were walking on an immense Long Bridge.

"Is there such a place in the Great Rift?"

Palmer raised his head, between the columns gradually appeared enormous Angel statues, gripping Fire Swords, their countenance furious, seemingly oppressing the endless darkness below.

Strolling within this solemn and cold atmosphere, Bologue's nerves were fully taut, and at the Long Bridge's end, Bologue saw that thing.

Upon seeing it, Palmer couldn't help but whisper in amazement, "Do we have any other paths to take?"

"Seems like we don't." Bologue thought, that must be what the Tyrant wanted him to kill, "Prepare for battle, Palmer."

"Are you sure, Bologue?" Palmer thought Bologue had gone mad.

Bologue replied nonchalantly, "Do we have any other choice?"

"But..."

"Don't hesitate, Palmer. In fact, that damned thing has already discovered us." Bologue continued.

The other party seemed to hear Bologue's words. At the end of the Long Bridge, the scarlet flesh loomed as large as a hill, with tumors tightly wrapped around the bridge.

It had long smelled the scent of the living. Now it no longer bothered to disguise, the scarlet tumor began to writhe as its immense body lifted high.

Bologue and Palmer both raised their heads, realizing their misconceptions about the opponent.

This was not some flesh ball but a coiled scarlet serpent, its body raising its head high, yet the head was a blurred human figure.

Bologue recognized the person, the Crimson Bishop, Latis.

In the Beast Fighting Arena, he had chased where Jia Meng vanished, now unexpectedly appearing here.

Bologue's heart instantly leaped into his throat, thinking the Devil's protection was, indeed, not easily acquired, as he had to face a Negative Power User. Worse still, the Immortal Heart was in his possession; there was no escape even if he wanted to.

"Is he... injured?" Palmer's words relieved Bologue from his anxiety.

Bologue furrowed his brows, straining to discern Latis's figure, and after a few seconds' delay, a clear image appeared before him.

A chilling cold seized Bologue's blood. He suddenly understood why Latis wasn't fighting for the Immortal Heart but appeared here instead.

He... was about to die.

At this moment, Latis's lower body had already fused with the giant serpent's body, and the human-like torso was covered with hideous scars. First, he lost his entire left arm, then there was a huge wound splitting his abdomen, beneath which was black and hollow, the internal organs long gone.

Then there was a cut across his throat. The wound was shallow, not severing Latis's neck, but slicing through his airway, with blood gushing out.

One of Latis's eyes was blind, and amid countless wounds, the most lethal one originated from his heart.

A pitch-black blade pierced through Latis's heart.

What puzzled Bologue the most was that as the Crimson Bishop, Latis possessed an extraordinary regenerative ability, not to mention after merging with the decayed root sprout, he had nearly reached an undead state.

Yet now, the injuries just hung on him, with the edges of the wounds writhing, trying to intertwine and heal, but each time they intertwined, they slid apart, as if the immortal nature was shattered.

"Ethereum mutual exclusion..." Aimou's voice echoed in his mind.

"What?" Bologue had never seen such a strange sight.

"Someone has breached his Rectangular Soul Critical, leaving a large amount of ether residue in the wounds."

Aimou sensed the ethereal fluctuations across Latis's body. Although the distance was far, it wasn't an issue for her. She endured subtler fluctuations when producing metamorphic metals.

"Those residual ethers are mutually exclusive with his own ether, thus hindering the flesh from healing."

"So, he's really about to die, right?" Bologue asked.

"Yes, but as long as there's some time and those ethers are dispelled, he can heal his wounds..."

"So now, he's clinging to a half-dead state by the Crimson Queen's protection. If I cut off his head now, he'd really die, right?"

"That's about right," Aimou observed Latis and continued, "He's just been through a fierce battle, extremely weak, with ether constantly leaking from the gaps in his Rectangular Soul Critical..."

Bologue thought he had learned enough. He suddenly turned his head, eagerly speaking to Palmer.

"Wanna add a Negative Power User to your record?"

Palmer was stunned for two seconds, then cursed loudly.

"Are you nuts!"

Despite the verbal lashes, Palmer still assumed a fighting stance, seeing Latis's weakness too. Most importantly, Latis had already sensed the Immortal Heart on them, and no matter what, he wouldn't easily let them go.

Bologue tied the container to his back, layers of Iron Armor wrapping around him. Looking at that scarlet serpent's body, the long Sharp Sword extended into a mighty Great Sword.

"The blood-washed stone glistens!

Mad power fills the body and bones!"

Within the void, a gramophone slowly spun, its hoarse and piercing song echoing across the dark Long Bridge.

Palmer couldn't fathom where the song originated, while Bologue excitedly tossed a grappling hook, embedding it in the stone pillar above, swinging fiercely with sword wind, tearing the raging song to shreds.