Endless Debt

The dark minions extended their hands, and all the shadows of the Ethereal Realm pounced towards Bologue, endless like black tidal waves, engulfing the only pristine island within the Ethereal Realm.

Secret Source.

Bologue was neither fearful nor panicked. He stepped forward valiantly, like a child learning to walk, initially stumbling a few steps, but soon his pace stabilized, and he sprinted gracefully like a cheetah.

The light before him magnified continuously until the rapidly surging air currents completely enveloped Bologue, countless specks of gray and white snow dust converging together, wrapping around him like drifting silk, or resembling wandering spirits in the sky.

Some brushed past Bologue, while others lightly stroked his body, hitting his skin and shattering into even finer dust.

Bologue raised his head, the blazing white storm approached, its light illuminating the heavens and earth, making the darkness before it seem so insignificant, as if it would disperse with a mere blow.

Faced with such a grand miracle, an anxious and blasphemous thought arose in Bologue’s mind.

Bologue recalled the space Between Nothingness, recalling the stargazing on the lunar surface, and more so, the myriad phenomena within the Golden Palace.

When people gaze at the firmament, they can all see the blazing sun that illuminates all, thus subconsciously viewing the scorching sun as the great entity of this starry sky.

No, the scorching sun is never great.

Compared to this infinitely vast universe, those billions of scorching suns are so small.

Yes, for the universe, the sun of the day is merely an insignificant part, and what truly occupies this endless starry sky is the boundless darkness.

Daylight is fleeting, darkness eternal, this is the only truth of the starry sky.

Bologue couldn’t help but associate the Ethereal Realm with the universe, just as no one can calculate the true size of the universe, scholars also cannot ascertain whether the Ethereal Realm has boundaries.

So...is the Ethereal Realm he sees truly the full visage of the Ethereal Realm?

Or is the part he’s traversed merely a tiny fragment of the Ethereal Realm’s boundless expanse, similar to the comparison of Oubos and the entire world.

Bologue could not stop his thoughts from diverging, nor could he control associations with nightmares.

Perhaps the Ethereal Realm was inherently absolutely dark, filled and occupied by all evil and strange forces, and the Secret Source was merely a coincidental entity, briefly illuminating the shadows of the Ethereal Realm, transforming into an unending beacon, burning, repelling the dark.

A truly despairing conjecture.

A cold sense of despair flashed through Bologue’s heart. He rarely complained about things, let alone fell into despair due to circumstances.

What has happened cannot be changed, and the latecomers can only do better.

The tide of shadows approached Bologue, a dark mass, seemingly swallowing all light, attempting to completely envelop the illumination, Bologue paid no heed, knowing the Secret Source would protect him.

The Condenser is the projection of the Secret Source in this world.

Everything was just as Bologue imagined, as the shadows approached, the wind speed suddenly rose, and those myriad ribbon-like snow dust turned into blades several meters long, under the storm’s whirling, transforming into a terrifying meat grinder, overlapping blades slicing the shadows into powder, collapsing mid-air.

The shadows first split into wriggling tar-like pieces, collapsing again, dissipating into swiftly vanishing black particles.

Returning to darkness, staging a comeback!

Bologue guessed that within the Ethereal Realm, the battle between light and dark persisted constantly, akin to a deadly feud between water and fire.

A pull came from the front, the entangled threads on Bologue’s body condensed into substance, like a thread extending from within the storm, firmly grasping Bologue, guiding him forward.

As for the umbilical cord extending into darkness, Bologue forcefully grabbed at that bizarre connection smeared with sticky tar, this time Bologue touched real substance, rather than an illusory shadow.

"My decision is clear, friend, stop clinging to me."

Bologue muttered curses under his breath, his nails piercing into the umbilical cord, penetrating the skin layer bit by bit, carving a hole like a razor, then tearing open a bloody gash.

Intense pain and a twisting nausea rose from within Bologue’s heart, he felt as if he truly became a newborn, attempting to tear off the dark umbilical cord independently.

But the umbilical cord was connected too deeply with Bologue, as if entwined with his organs, and tearing it off would inevitably pull out Bologue’s innards alongside.

Amidst the pain, Bologue heard peculiar low growls coming from the endless snow dust and the end of darkness, like a beast waving its limbs, frantically charging towards him.

Bologue regained some clarity, suspecting he heard wrong, was there another being besides himself in this Ethereal Realm?

Devil?

Before Bologue could think further, a bloated figure burst out from the black waves.

It was a grotesque shell drenched in tar and blood, massive tumors crammed together like spores, squeezing out patches of blood like fountains with each muscle movement.

Its face could no longer be recognized, only a blurry semblance of a human visage visible amidst the deformed mass of flesh. Several curved limbs supported this heavy body as if someone had dismembered a corpse and then reassembled it.

Once it completely emerged from the darkness, Bologue discovered its lower half had already decayed entirely, with stark white bones interwoven with blood, bare and emerging from the fearsome wound.

In other words, the monster Bologue now saw was merely a remnant of its body, not its complete form.

Bologue wondered what other life existed in the Ethereal Realm besides himself.

"Beast of the Herd?"

Bologue could not believe that in that engulfing collapse explosion, after being exiled to the Ethereal Realm, the Beast of the Herd hadn’t been completely obliterated.

Even if it hadn’t been eradicated, the current Beast of the Herd seemed to have suffered severe damage. Once, it was as vast as a mountain range, yet now its size bore little distinction from that of an ordinary beast.

But it was still alive.

Indeed, as this world’s Calamity, the Beast of the Herd was originally birthed from the complete fall of the Seeker of Glory. This meant its essence was a tremendously powerful Demon, possessing the power of voracity.

As long as it kept feeding, Bloodthirsty Healing would grant the Beast of the Herd endless vitality, and in this Ethereal Realm, the most abundant resource was Ether—pure energy that would serve as the perfect food.

Logically, the Beast of the Herd should have fully healed by now. Why was there only this broken form left?

Then, Bologue heard it.

The Beast of the Herd incessantly roared, and these weren’t the cries of bloodthirsty hunger but cries of deep-seated, instinctual fear.

Bologue forced himself to stand, observing as the tar covering the Beast of the Herd shook off. The dense black liquid, as it fell away, revealed a body riddled with scars, like it was gnawed on by billions of maggots, tattered and torn.

The tar dropped off, then surged again, attempting to burrow into the Beast of the Herd’s body. But this broken form could no longer bear the Power of Evil and Strange, as it infiltrated inside only to be cast out again. The vessel of flesh was on the brink of shattering, entirely consumed by the absolute power of darkness.

Gradually, the Beast of the Herd slowed its pace, its cries descending into silence, as it fell heavily to the ground, wrapped inch by inch by the tar, completely absorbed into the darkness. Meanwhile, Bologue could hear the whisper of insects devouring flesh.

Bologue staggered in his realization, awakening to the fact that the tar was a manifestation of that evil force, characterized not by will or morality, but only the instinctual essence of power.

Even Devils were slaves to this force, driven by its pure essence.

Bologue’s heartbeat accelerated, realizing this corrosion did not occur overnight. Since a month ago, after being heavily wounded and exiled to the Ethereal Realm, the Beast of the Herd had been devoured by the tar until today when it was entirely consumed.

He just happened to witness its death.

"What exactly are you?"

Bologue gazed into the vast darkness, involuntarily posing the question.

The darkness answered Bologue.

From the pitch-black shadows, crimson eyes opened one after another, their blood colors filled with irrational madness. At the same time, the tendon that Bologue was about to tear apart quickly healed, bringing forth an even stronger force than being entangled.

Something was coming, not descending from heaven, but rising from the depths below.

"Bologue Lazarus."

The darkness called Bologue’s name, and as Bologue looked toward it at that moment, it too gazed upon Bologue.

Suppose Condensers are divided into the trinity of body, mind, and spirit to differentiate the vessel that carries power, the will that controls power, and power itself. Does this rule apply to... darkness?

Devils serve as the will of darkness, the Ethereal Realm as the vessel carrying darkness, and those shadows contain the essence of that evil power.

While Bologue speculated, shadows began to roil, countless tar bubbling as if something was about to rise from beneath.

In the midst of utter foul stench, the writhing tar converged into a clear figure.

"Long time no see, Bologue."

Mammon folded his hands in front of his chest, his ever-changing face full of mockery.

The freezing cold pursued Bologue, and it was at this moment that he recalled a question he’d often overlooked: Devils are projections of dark power in the Material Realm, but that doesn’t mean they can’t appear within the Ethereal Realm.

"My poor child."

The tar cracked, and another figure rose. She held the severed head of the Beast of the Herd, witnessing it slowly disintegrating in her arms.

Beelzebub laid down the broken corpse, gazing expressionlessly at Bologue.

"At last, I’ve awaited you, Bologue."