Endless Debt Chapter 2: Prologue Debtor_2

Bologne's voice lowered, adopting an almost secretive tone as he transitioned to a new subject. "In certain circles, individuals pledge their very souls to the Devil. This act creates a permanent, shattering void within them—the space where their soul once resided. This void acts like a ravenous vortex, consuming all and gradually eroding the person's sanity. Enduring unimaginable agony, they descend into madness, their hunger intensifying until they resort to devouring the souls of others, a temporary reprieve from their torment."

It became apparent that Bologue was now the sole source of sound within the confessional; the silence had become absolute, broken only by his voice.

"Condensation involves the coagulation of the soul, transforming its intangible essence into a solid form capable of interaction, akin to the mythical Philosopher's Stone or the Elixir of Immortality... This isn't merely a robbery; it's a soul-plundering homicide, a truly aberrant crime."

Bologne's voice began to tremble, not from fear, but from an exhilarating, violent fervor.

"I encountered gang members in that vicinity, extracted their teeth, shattered their bones, and severed their fingers one by one... It was arduous work, but I managed to obtain a name, which led me to another individual. He was an Alchemist, peddling illicit substances on the black market. I subjected him to torture and interrogation, ultimately extracting the next name. Thugs, kingpins, smugglers, compromised sheriffs... Each one led to another, a grim procession."

The steady ticking of a clock accompanied Bologue's narration. After each word faded, the clock marked the passage of time with a distinct 'tick'.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, the tempo accelerating relentlessly, like being drawn into a dark abyss. A place of helpless wails, pulling souls into engulfing darkness.

A palpable pressure built within the Priest's chest, beads of cold sweat forming on his brow.

Finally, Bologue ceased speaking, a casual smile gracing his lips as he concluded his disturbing account. "Enough, the details are unnecessary. It was a tedious, mechanical undertaking. I ultimately acquired a list from a deceased man's grasp."

Bologne's gaze drifted, moving towards the other side of the darkened veil.

"Father, do you happen to know Adelle Dovlan?"

No audible response came from behind the black veil, only faint, unsettling sounds, reminiscent of a glacier cracking or the delicate sound of a sprout breaking through soil.

Bologne waited with unnerving patience. For reasons unknown, the church typically exuded a potent incense aroma, even in the confessional. However, he soon detected a faint, acrid undertone amidst the fragrant smoke.

A piercing shriek suddenly erupted.

Sharp, bone-like claws burst through flesh, resembling bloodied daggers. They ripped through the separating black veil, slicing across Bologne's face and embedding themselves deeply into the wooden partition behind.

Bologne turned his head towards where the Priest was positioned. A thin crimson line appeared along his cheek, followed by a trickle of blood. The fetid scent of blood filled the air, almost like an intoxicating concoction, stirring labored breaths within him.

Bologne observed the Priest—or rather, the entity within—with an unnerving indifference, his expression unreadable. "You ought not to have come here."

Darkness enveloped the Priest's form, emitting a guttural, distorted sound from his throat.

The Priest could discern the scent of a soul—a sweet, intoxicating, and maddening aroma that, by its mere fragrance, could offer significant relief from the gnawing hunger within his heart's void. Yet, this alleviation only fueled a deeper, more profound craving.

"A demon cannot assume the role of a Priest," Bologne stated coldly.

The Priest offered no verbal reply, instead unleashing a hoarse, unsettling laugh.

There was no concern about his secret being exposed, only the intention to eliminate Bologne. To consume Bologne's soul, then rend his flesh and scatter it into the Great Rift's gray fog… just as always.

"Father Doron, why does your name appear on this list?"

Bologne tilted his head back, witnessing the Priest's grotesque visage. His features were utterly contorted, devoid of any semblance of kindness. He resembled a predator poised to strike, his breathing heavy and ragged, his eyes bloodshot and wild.

"Is that so? What a pity," Bologne remarked.

The claws struck once more, accompanied by a grating metallic clang. In the confined darkness, Doron experienced a searing pain in his chest before his body was violently pulled, propelled uncontrollably out of the confessional.

He collided with a burning candelabrum, its hot wax and flames engulfing his body, igniting his clothing. Fire raged, and his roars echoed, making Doron appear like a beast immersed in flames.

Within the dimly lit confessional, Bologne emerged with deliberate steps, clutching a metal staff marked by the claws' impact. He swung the staff with force, and with several sharp clicks, it extended segment by segment, revealing a deadly blade that gleamed in the flickering candlelight.

A gleaming folding knife was clutched tightly in his grasp.

"There exist individuals who, in their pacts with the Devil, did not fully surrender their souls. Instead, they were granted a 'Blessing' by the Devil," Bologue explained, his free hand reaching to touch his chest, directly over his heart.

"The boss mentioned that these people sacrificed only a fragment of their soul, leaving an incomplete void, a missing corner. Consequently, they are frequently plagued by a gnawing hunger, an compulsion to retrieve their lost soul pieces and seal the emptiness. However, they retain their sanity, unlike you, unlike the Demon, who is perpetually insatiable."