Endless Debt Chapter 1097 - 118: Blood-Soaked Deathmatch

A mass of black smoke suddenly billowed, resembling an evil aura rising from the depths of Hell, suffocating. As footsteps neared, the indistinct silhouette gradually materialized.

An inexplicable pressure descended upon everyone, as if confronting a mythical adversary.

His scarlet robe was torn, revealing the rusted, cracked armor beneath. Flesh writhed within the gaps, like vines spreading and erupting from the metal, forming grotesque lumps and nodules, with blood trickling down.

Bologue peered at the face; beneath the hood lay only impenetrable darkness.

The air was thick with the stench of blood. Through this scent, Bologue, like a hound on a trail, detected the familiar scent of the Devil’s frenzy.

"First Seat..."

A deep, hoarse voice struggled out of Bologue’s throat, as if expending his very life force.

The instant the words reached other ears, their boiling blood seemed to freeze, as if icy talons had gripped their hearts.

The First Seat, imposing and silent, was the very image of Death Incarnate, wielding a Skull Scythe dripping with fresh blood and adorned with grim trophies.

He advanced deliberately, a sickening squelch accompanying each step. It was as if the First Seat was crushing a fleshy mass beneath his feet, like dense, swollen worms, rupturing into the filth that splattered everywhere.

True wind sounds whispered through the mist, akin to the lamentations of the departed, a chorus of ten thousand ghostly wails that pierced the soul and instilled terror.

The First Seat's arrival brought the battlefield to a standstill. His mere presence was enough to dictate the outcome, an unyielding force.

Bologue attempted to raise the Vengeful Saw Axe, but this time, the axe head remained quiescent. It was as if the residing rage spirit had also fallen into a cold slumber with the First Seat's appearance.

Mental tension peaked as a faint silver light captured Bologue’s attention.

His gaze fixed upon the Skull Scythe. Among the collection of skulls, one bore a fractured silver mask. The mask was split in half, revealing desiccated flesh beneath, leaving only bone.

Bologue recognized the mask and softly uttered, "Shadow King..."

As if sensing Bologue’s words, the First Seat raised a hand, removing the Shadow King’s skull, and tossed it towards the center of the battlefield.

The skull tumbled to Bologue’s feet. A closer inspection confirmed it was indeed the skull of the Shadow King, the Second Seat.

The Shadow King was no more, having fallen in the climactic battle near the Great Rift.

"Give it... to me..."

The First Seat extended a hand, from beneath whose sleeve emerged an armored limb. Its fingers were long and sharp, like wicked daggers.

His intention was unmistakable, his gaze fixed on the Iron Coffin situated behind them, where Xilin's remains were housed.

A strange chuckle erupted. Red Dog stretched languidly, his eyes glinting with a mocking amusement. They had won this round... that lady always emerged victorious.

Red Dog was certain no one could surpass her—not the First Seal King, not the Slaughter King, and certainly not the Second Seat.

This world was the Devil's chessboard, and the pawns held no hope whatsoever.

Breaking the silence, Bologue spoke, his resolve never wavering. Though the Vengeful Saw Axe had lost its fervor, Bologue still channeled his inner fury and declared loudly.

"I... refuse!"

Bologue acted before speaking, a characteristic habit. He was not merely a fool swinging an axe.

Chains shot out with blinding speed, whirling the Vengeful Saw Axe in a ferocious arc. During its rapid rotation, fragments of stone obeyed Bologue’s will, coalescing on the axe head until a colossal stone sphere formed, hurtling towards the First Seat.

The First Seat remained motionless. Dense white mist unfurled from beneath his robes, as if the shadow within his hood was a gateway to another dimension.

Recalling his experience within the Great Rift, Bologue recognized that the fog possessed the same corrosive nature as the Plague of Decay. It instantly enveloped the massive stone, beginning its voracious consumption. Before it could even reach the First Seat, the stone dissolved into swirling vapor and vanished.

The Vengeful Saw Axe pierced the shroud of mist, its blade slicing fiercely towards the First Seat. The latter appeared momentarily taken aback; with his power, even weapons were expected to succumb to the fog's corrosive touch.

Bolstered by Bologue’s Qi, the Deceitful Snake Scale Liquid relentlessly regenerated, counteracting the fog’s erosion and keeping the Vengeful Saw Axe untouched within the miasma.

The axe blade grazed the First Seat’s robes, retracting swiftly. At that instant, Bologue, who had been radiating fury, abruptly turned his back and sprinted away from the First Seat.

Bologue was not a fool but a master strategist.

From the very moment the First Seat materialized, Bologue understood that the Extraordinary Conflict Order Bureau was already vanquished. Now, his sole focus was on minimizing casualties.

This included, for instance, escaping with the Iron Coffin.

"What are you waiting for!"

Bologue’s bellow echoed as he forcefully extracted Aimou’s Ether, flinging it out with abandon.

The very ground convulsed once more, fractured by the Plague of Decay. The Great Rift’s internal geological structure was already riddled with cracks, and Bologue intended to shatter it into oblivion.

Fissures snaked across the land, then rapidly expanded. Bologue laid a hand on the Iron Coffin, and layers of Deceitful Snake Scale Liquid enveloped it. Despite its immense weight, Bologue strained, manipulating the surrounding rocks and chains, and retreated with great effort, dragging the Iron Coffin behind him.