Endless Debt

Bologue is a special case, possessing both an umbilical cord and entanglement, representing connections to the light and dark of the Ethereal Realm—connections with the Ethereal Realm itself.

In this world of unimaginable energy, Bologue is able to maintain absolute clarity, even interacting with the substances here according to his own will, seizing past memories from the storm of the Secret Source.

He can even clearly discern the existence of the Devils from the chaotic noise.

Similarly, when Bologue saw the Devils, the Devils also saw Bologue.

Aside from the traps set by the Devils themselves, Bologue couldn’t help but recall the suspicions he had during his previous ascension ritual, that the Ethereal Realm seemed to have a self-concealing logic to prevent information within it from leaking out.

His kind of fully-formed, interactive consciousness is undeniably a significant threat to the secrets of the Ethereal Realm.

Therefore, those tar-like Devils are part of the defense mechanisms, emerging at this moment to hunt him down.

Bologue guessed that in years past, many people like him, who reached the Ethereal Realm with fully-formed consciousnesses, perished under these trap-like defense mechanisms.

He should have been one of those dead, until the storm of the Secret Source burned fiercely.

Bologue watched the scenes before him in disbelief, as if the blazing sun of daylight rose in the eye of the storm, with endless light shedding a meteor shower that shattered the tar trying to enwrap Bologue, even the seemingly indestructible ice surface showed various dents and cracks.

The voice continued to speak.

"Forward!"

Bologue gritted his teeth, facing the intense light, tears involuntarily streaming from his eyes, striding forward.

The cold, scorching, inexplicable stinging sensation spreading across his body twisted Bologue’s consciousness, as overwhelming sensations relentlessly assaulted him.

The Devils’ hoarse cries of poison and resentment howled forth, Ether converged and exploded, and the thunderous shockwaves continued, bringing the once orderly Ethereal Realm into chaos, shadows boiling and tumbling like an unending fury.

Was it because of him?

Bologue didn’t think he was so capable, worthy of such wrath from this evil essence, its target was... the Secret Source!

At this moment, both Beelzebub and Mammon ceased their pursuit of Bologue, staying at a safe distance, their eyes filled with confusion and doubt.

Since the configuration of the Ethereal Realm, the Secret Source had always remained silent, like an eternally unchanging storm, seemingly standing until the end of time.

But at this moment, it suddenly became active.

Beelzebub stood frozen, gazing at the towering brilliant light that rose from the ground, a fact more shocking than when Leviathan was replaced by someone else.

If Leviathan’s issue was merely a conflict within the Devils, the Secret Source’s agitation was a declaration of war against all Devils.

"It’s okay."

The cold touch came from Beelzebub’s palm, and she turned her head to see Mammon gazing at the erupting intense light, and Bologue’s tiny silhouette running.

Mammon tightly grasped his blood relative’s hand, whispering, "There are always those moments in life when we suddenly feel like we no longer recognize the world."

In a momentary pause, Beelzebub saw a face from a distant past, almost buried in the grave of memories.

It was Mammon’s appearance before making a wish, or perhaps his original face.

It vanished in an instant.

Even with the Secret Source shedding countless rays of light to shield Bologue, the piercing shrieks continued to chase him, and Bologue knew what wretched thing was pursuing him.

This world’s Calamity: Throat of the Abyss.

It is Mammon’s minion, a more effective tool of slaughter than the Silent Ones, easily tearing open Curved Pathway Rifts and leaping forward through gaping holes.

With each flicker, it dodged a mass of meteors and closed the distance with Bologue, and if caught by it, Bologue would only be torn to shreds.

The consciousness might not be shredded, but being swallowed by it certainly wouldn’t be a pleasant outcome.

"Is anyone there? Help!"

Bologue couldn’t help but shout, already in such a dire state that there was no need to care about his image.

This was an ascension ritual, with a passage between the Material Realm and the Ethereal Realm open in the garden, on the iron chair he sat on, and Bologue only hoped that Mamo could observe what was happening here and provide him with assistance.

Even a little help would be good, as the situation here was developing in a direction beyond imagination.

"It’s really a devil’s game."

Bologue’s steps slowed down, to be precise, he could no longer move forward even a fraction.

The loose umbilical cord was stretched to its limit, and Bologue couldn’t break free from it, bound in place, but the good news was that the Secret Source was approaching him.

The enormous storm that illuminated the Ethereal Realm was slowly advancing toward him, as if sweeping away all darkness, mercilessly eradicating any dark tar it touched, declaring war on that evil essence.

Bologue always wondered if the storm would obliterate him along with everything else.

In the distance, the figures of Beelzebub and Mammon had already become blurred, yet the pitch-black tar continued to surge forward, colliding against the black tide and streaming light, making the long-silent Ethereal Realm even more chaotic.

If the world full of Ether was like a sealed chamber filled with gas, then this moment was the kindling flame.

Bologue, while worrying about his situation, also wondered whether this strife would trigger a major upheaval in the Ethereal Realm, and similarly, whether changes in the Ethereal Realm would reflect onto the Material Realm, causing a chain of disasters.

Bologue was unsure, he didn’t even know why the Secret Source was agitated at this moment.

But more than those puzzles, Bologue was more concerned about the ever-approaching Throat of the Abyss.

As a soldier who had endured the wrath of scorched earth, Bologue deeply understood this principle.

Soldier against soldier, King against King.

If he was a soldier, he only needed to guard his trench, without considering grander matters, and similarly, if he was a King, he should find ways to kill the enemy King’s without caring for the soldiers’ lives.

The Secret Source had its war, the Devils had their strifes, and Bologue had his own battle to prepare for.

The umbilical cord firmly held him, refusing to let go, and the entanglement wouldn’t release him either, and unable to separate them, Bologue could only stand dumbfounded, watching the ever-approaching Throat of the Abyss.

Bologue didn’t want to await his doom, but he really had no countermeasures, until he touched the cold metal, a familiar sensation entering his palm, outlining a clear silhouette.

Raising his hand, the black Blade had appeared by Bologue’s side at some point.

Bologue was in a daze for a moment, thinking he had hallucinated, but gripping his hand tightly, he was certain Resentment Bite was held in his hand.

Along with Resentment Bite, the Vengeful Saw Axe was tightly held in his other hand.

Bologue tried to call upon the Ether, and the glow of the Alchemy Matrix reflected off his body, effortlessly sweeping up the surrounding Ether toward him.

A clear voice directly echoed in his mind.

Aimou called out.

"Bologue!"

"Aimou?"