Endless Debt Chapter 1065 - 108: The Death God Descends

Within the subdued lighting of the chamber, Mammon occupied his customary spot on a worn sofa. A series of stacked televisions provided him a comprehensive view of the ongoing conflict from various perspectives.

On the premier screen, Palmer, his face streaked with blood, complied with Bologue’s directives. He retraced his path through a rupture in the ruins, emerging into the outside world. Morrison’s demise had reduced his form to a fine mist of blood, now uniformly dispersed across the terrain.

The second display depicted the Fourth Seat breaching the fortifications erected by the Silent Ones and the Third Seat. The Fog Abyss Fortress loomed in the distance. Although the Fourth Seat's ferocity had noticeably waned, the majority of the Secret Sword members were wounded, and several had met their end.

Amidst the rapidly shifting battlefront, there was no opportunity to attend to the fallen. Combatants could only seize any valuable possessions, such as the Secret Sword that symbolized might and honor, before plunging back into the fray.

Mammon inquired, "Gray, among the King’s Secret Sword, surely there are a number of individuals capable of wielding more than one Secret Sword simultaneously, much like yourself?"

Gray offered no reply. Mammon repeated his query, "Gray?"

Still, silence.

Mammon turned his head, his gaze sweeping the surroundings. Gray had vanished, leaving no trace.

An unusual smile stretched across Mammon’s face. His breathing quickened, consumed by an inexplicable exhilaration. With a press of the remote, a darkened screen flickered to life, mirroring Gray’s image.

He navigated through profound, shadowy passageways. The very ground vibrated subtly, and distant roars of Ether echoed, yet these phenomena had no bearing on Gray. Gripping a venom-scorched blade, his resolve unwavering, he ascended the stairs.

Mammon's eyes were alight with an almost uncontrollable joy, teetering on the edge of outright laughter.

He shifted his attention to another monitor. A shadowy figure advanced with swiftness, traversing convoluted corridors and piercing through obstructing debris. As if sensing Mammon’s observation, the figure turned its head. From beneath a stark black visor, eyes burning with lethal intent fixed upon the watcher.

Disregarding Mammon further, the figure raised its weapon. Blazing flames erupted along the blade, melting and incinerating the rock before it.

On the subsequent screen, a personage clad in crimson robes moved stealthily through the mist.

Upon witnessing this figure, despite the barrier of the screen, Mammon instinctively held his breath, fearful of detection. The suppressed inhalation concealed his irrepressible delight.

The crimson-robed figure began to convoke, and the screen itself seemed to falter. Images distorted, sparks erupted around the television, and internal static crackled in a jumble of red and green hues. The figure dissipated as if it had never been present.

Only then did Mammon exhale deeply, exclaiming with fervent excitement, "I just knew it! Haha, I knew it!"

This rare, grand spectacle sent a surge of heat through Mammon’s veins.

After so many years, he hadn't experienced such a sensation. For a fleeting moment, Mammon felt as though time had unwound, transporting him back to an earlier period in this very location.

It echoed the clandestine war, much like the Fall of the Holy City.

History, it seemed, was destined to repeat itself, again and again.

"The final hour has arrived," Mammon whispered. "What resolution will you forge?"

On the last screen, Bologue's image materialized. He stepped over fractured staircases, advancing into the abyss of darkness.

...

From the depths of a profound chasm, rustling sounds emanated from every corner. Bologue strained to decipher these noises – some were the pained moans of the wounded, others the grating of stone against stone, foreshadowing another collapse, and still others were merely the chilling sighs of the cold wind.

The powerful Ether reaction overhead registered immediately with Bologue; he recognized it as Palmer’s exertion. Bologue's expression remained impassive, as though he had anticipated this very event.

Bologne understood that Palmer would not allow Morrison to escape retribution lightly. A prolonged period of suffering awaited Morrison, but this was of no concern to Bologue. He felt no apprehension, confident in Palmer's ability to conclude matters flawlessly.

Descending further, Bologue's awareness of the surrounding blood intensified. The seemingly bottomless pit appeared to lead into infinite darkness.

Bologne observed that the walls and floor of the pit were coated in a sanguineous substance. When fleshy entities plummeted into the void, these sharp protrusions impaled them like deadly blades.

An malevolent, sanity-eroding aura radiated from the pit, chilling one to the very bone.

At the pit's base, viscous fluids slowly pooled, revealed to Bologue's sight. These liquids, a mixture of crimson and black, resembled coagulated blood intertwined with some unidentifiable ichor. The sight conjured images of vast worm swarms, their sharp teeth savagely tearing into their captured prey.

Having reached the pit's floor, Bologue surveyed his surroundings. Utter darkness enveloped everything, with no discernible light. He ignited Red Mercury with the Deceitful Snake Scale Liquid, then shaped them into Long Spears and cast them forth, one after another.

Like incandescent torches, the Fire Spears pierced the surrounding gloom, banishing the darkness.

Before Bologue materialized a colossal flesh-based entity, its form lodged within the desolation, exhibiting a tumultuous undulation as if engaged in labored respiration.

An innumerable quantity of lesions marred its fleshy exterior, from which a constant flow of sanguine fluid coursed, carving ceaseless channels through the fractured debris.

Gazing down from atop this grotesque mound, Bologue drew a parallel between the creature and a worldly Calamity; yet, unlike the unbridled fury of Calamity, this being, in Bologue's perception, exuded an aura of comparative placidity.