Endless Debt

Under the illumination of the Secret Source, Bologue was no longer that powerless mortal, a mere First Stage Condenser. Now he had been through many battles and stood at the edge between the Negative Power User and the Defender.

The Throat of the Abyss couldn’t catch up with Bologue. Mammon and Beelzebub could only stand at the edge of the storm and gaze longingly. The Ethereal Realm evaporated into endless darkness, attempting to swallow the glow of the Secret Source, yet they could never step an inch into it.

Everyone could only watch, silently observing.

Bologue’s figure became increasingly blurred, his shadow narrower and narrower, until the light swallowed everything, until the storm of the Secret Source roared, and thousands of snowflakes tore at the body of the Throat of the Abyss, leaving a string of scarlet wounds over it.

The Throat of the Abyss, like a wounded beast, let out an unwilling roar, retreating dismally back into the Curved Pathway Rift; thus the Devil’s trap for Bologue completely failed.

None could predict that the Secret Source would become agitated at this moment. It had been silent for so long, so long that even the Devils had almost forgotten its essence, its will.

"Do you think he will wake up?" Mammon muttered.

"No, how could he wake up?" Beelzebub shook her head, "The moment he chose to sacrifice himself, he was already consumed by ’sacrifice.’"

"Whether he regrets, whether he suffers, nothing he does can change that ’irrational obsession,’" Beelzebub said.

"The inertia of desire."

Mammon coldly used this term to sum up the irrational obsession.

"The obsession with sacrifice, the inertia of sacrifice, like a rolling stone, either reaching the bottom or shattering on the path, there’s no other option," Beelzebub said, glancing up at Mammon, "Just like us."

As she spoke of these matters, Beelzebub suddenly leaned towards Mammon, "Your greed, my gluttony, we’re both like this. Even if we want to change, we can’t. The irrational obsession, the inertia of desire, will force us back on track, either dying on the path of desire or attaining true fulfillment..."

The Devils possessed self-awareness, but lacked free will. As embodiments of desire, they were bound to serve the supreme desire until death.

The wielder of the Blade is also a slave to the Blade.

"How can we ever be truly fulfilled?"

Mammon asked Beelzebub, extending a hand to gently wrap around her neck, resting on her shoulder on the opposite side, as if to embrace her.

"Indeed... how could we? But if, if we could be the only winner?"

Beelzebub revealed a tempting smile, "I’ve always suspected that the curse we’ve endured for ages might be related to our imperfect wishes."

She actively leaned into Mammon’s embrace, pressing against his chest, her sharp fingertips like knives, gently piercing the skin, yet no blood flowed.

"There are too many wishers. If there were only one person, one wish, perhaps everything would be different."

Beelzebub softly said, "A wish perfect enough."

She embraced Mammon entirely. It was a foreign sensation, something both Mammon and Beelzebub had almost forgotten when they last embraced like this.

Beelzebub asked in a low voice, "Would you fulfill me, my blood kin?"

"To sacrifice for you?"

The cold gaze in Mammon’s eyes flickered with a trace of emotion, which quickly vanished. He forcefully held Beelzebub’s head, as if embracing tightly or about to snap her neck.

"Sacrifice is a virtue, a contradictory existence to greed. Perhaps once I might have done it for you, but now... even if I wanted to, I couldn’t, my blood kin."

Mammon suddenly exerted force, Beelzebub’s head spun rapidly like a top, her neck twisted completely as her head tilted, bloodbursting from her eyes.

Beelzebub’s expression was somewhat dazed, she began to laugh foolishly, then her entire hand plunged into Mammon’s chest, piercing through to the back.

She grasped something—it might have been Mammon’s heart, or perhaps something else. At this point, Beelzebub wasn’t even sure if Devils had what could be called a heart.

Squeezing forcefully, warm blood soaked her hand, drawing back like a blade from Mammon’s body, Mammon disregarded the injury, instead joining Beelzebub in a hearty laugh, forcefully tearing Beelzebub’s head off completely from her body.

Blood gushed out, surging forth.

The graceful headless body remained standing, as if not dead, it still stood straight, Mammon raised Beelzebub’s head high, looking at it on the same level.

Beelzebub asked, "How long has it been since we played like this?"

"I don’t like this kind of play, though it does no harm," Mammon’s chest quickly healed, as if it had never been wounded.

"You know, between us there’s no sacrifice, only mutual battle, fighting; this is the debt to our Original Sin," Mammon continued, "Do you intend to wage war on me? Now, of all times?"

"Wage war? Impossible, I said, just reminiscing, just playing around."

Beelzebub smiled, her teeth stained with blood.

"We are allies now. Even if we were to fight, we must first deal with Leviathan and the others, don’t you think?"

Mammon snorted coldly and tossed Beelzebub’s head away. The head flew into the air, and the headless body stretched out a hand, easily catching it, placing it back on the neck’s stump, as simple as assembling a toy.