Endless Debt Chapter 3: Prologue Debtor_3

Bologue drew nearer, the flickering candlelight casting a glow upon his face as it touched the carpet. His features were those of a young man; long, dark hair hung in a disheveled manner around eyes veiled by shadow. He wore a black windbreaker over a white shirt, complete with a black tie at the collar. To all appearances, he was an ordinary individual, much like any office worker winding down after a day's labor, the kind one encountered frequently in Opus.

"Devils are truly a cunning, damnable sort, wouldn't you agree?" Bologue voiced his complaint.

"Such beings cannot maintain a sound soul, nor are they driven by primal hunger like you demons, completely fallen and teetering on the brink of madness. They exist in a state of limbo. They scramble about, seeking their lost souls, with the hope of one day reclaiming them from the clutches of the devils, thereby settling this profound debt."

With a sudden lunge, Doron commenced its beastial transformation. Its claws, sharp as slender blades, extended as muscles swelled, tearing through its attire. Low growls erupted as it surged forward with unstoppable force. Its form blurred into a shadowy distortion, and after a momentary pause, a powerful gust of wind erupted, fanning the flames. A sharp cracking sound reverberated, sending sparks scattering.

Doron watched in disbelief at the scene unfolding. Bologue had, with one hand, raised a folding knife, effortlessly deflecting its fierce assault and then pushing it back. Doron swung its claws again, aiming to end Bologue, but the latter's speed with the blade was superior. His figure dissolved like a phantom.

The wind swirled, and when Bologue reappeared, the cold gleam of steel was in his grasp. The folding knife caught the firelight, flashing a dazzling radiance before Doron's eyes. This moment of distraction lasted less than a second, but in that fleeting instant, the folding knife evaded the hardened claws and sliced down from the side, cleanly severing Doron's right hand.

"So tell me, Priest, why is that?" His questions were punctuated by the blade's glow, each word inflicting a grim wound upon Doron.

"The righteous are destined for Heaven, so why is her soul not there?" Bologue pondered, his folding knife then slashing across Doron's lower leg, cutting it in two and forcing the creature to its knees. Doron panted, consumed by terror; the demon that had once instilled fear was now utterly petrified.

"The wicked are destined for Hell, so why is your soul not there?" The voice emanated from behind, Bologue standing like an executioner, the folding knife held firmly.

Doron quivered. The next instant, a fierce wind rose, tearing through the air. It retaliated desperately, leaping upwards, twisting, and swinging its claws, but encountered an even more chilling glint of steel. The claws shattered. The remaining arm was easily pierced and torn apart. Even the chest was not spared, marked by a thin blade line from which blood began to gurgle.

Cold lights crisscrossed and intertwined. The whistling wind of the folding knife momentarily extinguished the burning flames, and wisps of white smoke drifted past. Doron's body froze, a thin red line appearing across its throat, rapidly spanning half its neck. Then, like a breached dam, blood erupted in torrents, pouring out unstoppably.

Under the fatal wound, Doron instantly lost all strength, collapsing. It reached out a fractured, twisted arm in a chaotic attempt to staunch the wound on its throat, but it was futile. Blood continued to gush, quickly forming a large pool beneath.

Bologue did not press his attack, remaining still, starlight reflected in his eyes. Not only was blood flowing out, but ethereal wisps of azure light also escaped the body, drifting like dust. This phenomenon seemed visible only to Bologue; Doron remained oblivious to these points of light, barely lifting its head, its gaze filled with terror.

"Fragments..." Bologue murmured, raising a hand to brush aside strands of hair, revealing a face pale from prolonged absence of sunlight, and bearing those azure eyes. He seemed unfazed by the brutal scene, instead appearing as if awakened, with azure spirals swirling within his irises.

Simultaneously, the scattered azure points seemed drawn by an unseen force, surging towards Bologue. They effortlessly passed through his skin, merging into his form. A profound sense of fulfillment washed over him.

"Oh! My apologies." The wave of fulfillment had momentarily dazed him. Regaining his awareness, he recalled something, extending his hand towards Doron, and spoke slowly.

"Bologue."

Bologue stated his name. "Bologue Lazarus, a debtor." Souls offered to devils to secure arcane blessings, thus incurring a heavy debt.

As Doron sank into the pool of its own blood, Bologue's words echoed. It witnessed the wounds on Bologue's cheek visibly closing, the skin rejoining as if time itself were reversing. Bologue observed Doron's gaze and offered an explanation.

"Yes, this is my 'Blessing,' the 'debt' I carry."

His words concluded, a sickly smile graced his features as the folded knife descended once more, severing Doron's remaining limbs and reducing them to a writhing mass of flesh. Like a helpless maggot, it writhed on the ground, driven by a primal instinct for survival, leaving a crimson trail behind, much like a spilled red carpet.

The resonant sound of footsteps pursued relentlessly. In the distance, Bologue's silhouette materialized, a folded knife held loosely, a strange melody escaping his lips. The knife tapped lightly against his palm, creating a joyful, rhythmic beat.

With light steps, as if dancing, Bologue circled Doron, his feet treading through pools of blood.

"I... I..."

Doron attempted to utter pleas for mercy, but thick clots of blood obstructed its throat, allowing only pathetic whimpers to escape.

Bologue seized Doron's hair, forcing the filth- and blood-caked head upward.

"Begging is futile, Priest. You yourself proclaimed that the souls of the wicked belong in Hell."

With that, Bologue violently hurled the priest's mangled corpse into the roaring confessional. Flames erupted, radiating intense heat, and countless sparks took flight.

The air filled with the horrifying sound of agonizing cries, mingled with the scent of flesh succumbing to the fiery embrace.

He retrieved the burning scripture, casually opening it to a page where the words transmuted into brilliant gold under the inferno's glow.

Bologue's voice boomed as he recited its contents.

"Under His watchful eye, mountains quake, and the Earth trembles!"

He then tossed the weighty scripture aside. The folded knife plunged through the blazing pages, and Bologue strode forward, driving the knife's blade, now piercing the scripture, straight into the demon's heart, firmly impaling it within the burning confessional.

Bologue remained, standing alongside the demon within the tempestuous flames. The fire gnawed at his skin, yet his flesh regenerated almost instantly, searing wounds closing one by one.

Under his unwavering gaze, the demon's thrashing gradually subsided. Its dark exterior was consumed by the flames, reducing it to a charred husk, transforming into a grim effigy of ash and death.

The demon's remnants cascaded down as gray dust, revealing specks of azure light that flowed and merged into Bologue's being. He spread his arms wide, closed his eyes, seeming to revel in the raw power of that moment of destruction. A look of profound satisfaction settled on his face, while incandescent azure light spilled from the corners of his eyes.

He withdrew the folded knife. The scripture disintegrated, its shell crumbling into dust as burning pages swirled like golden snow, drifting gently through the air.