Endless Debt Chapter 1: Prologue Debtor

Beneath the shroud of night, the church blazed with light, candles casting quiet flames, their wax melting and solidifying down the steps, resembling rippling waves on the sea under the fading sun's evening glow.

Within the confined space of the confessional booth, Bologue bowed his head, his voice a low whisper. "Father, good souls ascend to heaven, and wicked souls descend to hell, is that correct?"

A gentle voice soon responded from the other side. "Indeed, my child."

Bologne and the Priest were separated by a thin, black veil, their visages obscured in the dimness, rendering their features indiscernible.

"Is that so? That is wonderful news."

Reassured by the Priest's confirmation, Bologue nodded, a sense of relief washing over him.

"I have a friend," he began. A faint smile touched Bologue's troubled face as he spoke of her, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

"She is not the type of 'friend' one uses as a pretense; she is a genuine individual, arguably my sole companion. After my release from prison a year ago, I found myself standing at the gates, uncertain of my next step. Then, I saw her. Despite the long interval since our last meeting, recognition was instantaneous. She brought me home and has since been looking after me. She used to be quite the nag... and as she grew older, her nagging intensified, her daily admonishments ceaseless..."

Bologne spoke freely, pouring out his heart, while the Priest listened attentively.

"I would be chided for sleeping without a blanket, for skipping breakfast, even for staying up too late. Sometimes, I’d retort, 'Are you my mother?' to which she’d offer a smug smile and continue her scolding."

A smile played on Bologue's lips, and the Priest on the other side of the veil joined in with a chuckle, their laughter echoing within the small enclosure.

"I stayed at her home for a period, sleeping on the living room sofa. Her children would visit occasionally. Perhaps it was due to my prison record, but her children seemed to dislike me. Combined with her advanced age, they always suspected I had ulterior motives, perhaps coveting her inheritance."

At this, Bologue shook his head.

"To preserve the harmony within her family, I eventually moved out. Whenever I had the opportunity, I would visit her. She often remarked that I was like her non-biological child... still taking advantage of me, she’d jest."

Bologne's mind conjured the woman's image, an aged face sculpted by the passage of time, yet one could still faintly discern the residual beauty within the time-worn skin and wrinkles.

Listening to his narrative, the Priest offered a slight nod, a smile gracing his features.

"An unconventional bond? It sounds truly heartwarming."

"Yes, she was exceptionally kind, offering me sanctuary during my darkest hour. I even playfully told her once that I would repay her kindness by becoming her lover. She merely shook her head, commenting that when we stood together, we resembled mother and son far more than a couple."

Bologne looked upwards, his gaze meeting only the profound darkness above, and murmured to himself.

"Such a benevolent soul deserved a peaceful end, did she not? On a bright, sunny morning, perhaps..."

He inhaled deeply, the smile that had graced his face gradually hardening into a cold, expressionless mask.

"Father, I wish to confess my sins regarding her demise. And the heinous acts I committed in its aftermath."

His voice was eerily calm, utterly devoid of emotion.

The words, like an incantation, sent an unspeakable chill down the Priest's spine. Trembling, he glanced towards the other side of the veil, only to perceive a faint silhouette.

For a fleeting instant, he experienced an inexplicable premonition, as if Bologue, on the other side of the confessional partition, was no longer human but some malevolent entity.

Emanating profound evil, ferocity, and deceit...

"It was approximately a month ago, on a sun-drenched morning. She ventured out for her customary stroll, but this time, she never returned. When she was discovered, she was deceased, her body sprawled in a darkened alley, her valuables and cash pilfered."

The earlier warmth had evaporated, Bologue's gaze now vacant, as if recounting an event wholly detached from his own being.

"A simple robbery, the Sheriff’s department concluded. Father, you are aware of this forsaken place, Opus; it's a city where order and lawlessness intertwine, and robberies are commonplace. She was merely unfortunate to have crossed paths with such misfortune on a cheerful morning.

Initially, I concurred with this assessment. On my way to the morgue, my mind raced with thoughts, contemplating how I would locate that accursed perpetrator, how I would make him comprehend that, at times, even death itself is a luxury bestowed upon the fortunate..."

Bologne's voice faltered momentarily before resuming.

"I viewed her remains at the morgue. Her body was cold, her expression serene, as though she were merely asleep. The physician stated that her advanced age, coupled with a head injury, had led to her passing, a common fate for many elderly individuals.

While I initially accepted this cause of death, I soon made a startling discovery: she bore the distinct marks of 'Condensation.' Her very soul... had been extracted."