Endless Debt Chapter 1062 - 107: Acts of Kindness
Previously on Endless Debt...
With Morrison's defeat, a tranquil silence descended upon the battlefield. Faint groans from beneath debris, the scrape of masonry, and the gentle cascade of falling stones were the only subtle sounds piercing the quiet.
Boloque could no longer perceive the colossal construct of flesh. In the heart of the devastation lay a pit, a gaping recess that plunged into the depths below. It had undoubtedly fallen when the ceiling gave way.
"I will investigate that entity," Bologue stated, outlining his next move. "As for you…"
He trailed off, a palpable chill emanating from Palmer.
Palmer stood with his back to Bologue, his Ether response noticeably faltering. It was evident that dispatching Ernan had exacted a heavy toll.
Morrison lay in a pool of his own blood, his breaths shallow and ragged.
For a Negative Power User, Morrison rarely appeared so depleted. Yet, his encounter with Bologue had been brutal; the Vengeful Saw Axe had nearly cleaved through his chest, while Protection·Soul Sucking and Essence Stealing had siphoned away the bulk of his Ether.
The only reason Morrison still drew breath was the residual Ether within him, precariously sustaining his Etherealization.
Like a ticking clock counting down to his demise, the remaining Ether was being consumed, drop by drop. Once it was entirely depleted, his Etherealization would cease, and Morrison would perish like any ordinary mortal.
"Palmer."
Boloque called out to his companion, gently tugging the chain coiled around his wrist. The Rancor Bite, embedded in the ground, retracted swiftly.
"Continue with our original plan. I will examine that monstrous entity and search for the Shadow King," Bologue declared, turning his back definitively to Palmer. "As for you, finish him off and depart this place swiftly."
"Understood."
An icy finality laced Palmer's response. A sense of relief washed over Bologue, and he leaped into the pit below, vanishing into the encompassing darkness.
They left Palmer and Morrison alone in the echoing silence. An oppressive stillness lingered for an extended period, punctuated only by the continuous, deep rumbling that threatened another collapse.
"Ha…"
Suddenly, Palmer let out a laugh, though his expression was fraught with bitterness as he shook his head.
Morrison, struggling for his life, could not fathom the thoughts of the apparently deranged Palmer. His mind focused on survival, he cautiously flexed his fingers, attempting to retrieve the Secret Sword submerged in the bloody pool.
A searing pain erupted. Morrison roared in agony as a Flying Knife pierced his hand, pinning it to the ground.
A glint of madness entered Palmer’s eyes. As if influenced by the bloodlust, he became a chilling, terrifying figure.
"Finally caught you, Morrison," Palmer stated, his voice devoid of emotion.
"Who in the Nine Hells are you?"
Morrison was utterly bewildered. He had never encountered Palmer before and was unaware of any personal vendetta.
"That is of no consequence."
Palmer spoke as he unfurled the Storm Feather, causing the single Flying Knife in his hand to split into two.
Morrison, recognizing the futility of resistance, cast a final glance upward. A faint, blood-streaked smile touched his lips as he addressed Palmer.
"I surrender. You have captured me. Take me back to your prison."
This was his sole chance for survival. Live now, strategize for a counterattack later.
Palmer ignored Morrison's plea, seemingly experiencing a moment of profound realization.
"Violence begets peace."
As he uttered these words, Palmer’s demeanor shifted, becoming remarkably reverent, as if reciting sacred scripture.
Palmer laughed again, crouching beside Morrison. He toyed with the Flying Knife as he inquired, "What do you think of my partner? A complete maniac, driven by violence, wouldn't you agree?"
Morrison remained uncertain of Palmer's intentions. However, just as Palmer suggested, Bologue had indeed struck Morrison as a bloodthirsty lunatic. Now, Palmer himself appeared to be equally unhinged; neither man seemed to be on the right side of sanity.
Clutching his wound, Morrison gasped in pain. Observing his dire condition, Palmer continued.
"When I first agreed to partner with him, I found myself disgusted every time I witnessed him fight," Palmer confessed, a frown creasing his brow. "It wasn't truly a fight, more akin to wholesale slaughter... butchery."
As he spoke, Palmer withdrew a syringe from the pouch at his waist. Within the glass tube, a dazzling silver liquid flowed.
"Do you grasp what I mean? Everyone fights with purpose, for gain. But he was different; he derived sheer pleasure from killing."
Palmer's disdain was palpable. "Truly, a certifiable, psychopathic killer."
The needle plunged into Morrison's body. As Morrison stared in bewilderment, a substantial amount of Mang Silver Soul was injected into him, fortifying his Etherealization. With this additional Mang Silver Soul, Morrison could potentially resume fighting.
Negative Power Users had shed much of their mortality; provided their bodies didn't sustain absolutely fatal wounds, they possessed the ability of Etherealization to persist, even to mitigate damage and re-enter combat. Palmer's current actions were undeniably a form of 'healing' for Morrison, yet Morrison found himself bewildered by the reason behind it. "Later, I learned some of his history, stories steeped in animosity, which caused me to adjust my perception of him slightly. Still, I couldn't comprehend his ruthlessness, nor fathom his Savor spirit," Palmer remarked. "What is he contemplating? Does he perceive himself as the central figure in some film?"