Endless Debt Chapter 812 - 266: Hollow and Dull Dark Heart2

"You don’t love humanity, you love yourself, your own selfish desires!"

Ewen burst into laughter. Belphegor thought Ewen might truly have gone mad. Under imnse pressure, this poor mortal completely collapsed, sliding into the Abyss. His flesh was dying, and his spirit was continuously degrading, the Golden Soul being devoured by darkness until total downfall.

Belphegor thought he might have lost, but Asmodeus did not win either. He began to mourn Ewen’s soul, feeling that soone so talented should not beco a casualty in power struggles.

Just then, Ewen walked toward Asmodeus again. At so point, Ewen seed to have awakened, no longer a toy for the Devils. The situation reversed, placing him in command.

Ewen looked at her fervently, spreading his arms as if to embrace Asmodeus, taking slow steps towards her, speaking as he warmly hugged her.

"My dear Asmodeus."

Ewen whispered beside her ear, like old friends reunited, "You’re actually just like Belphegor, like all the Devils, aren’t you?"

"You’re so eager for intense emotional stimuli, not hesitating to create nurous Identity Cards, forming that bizarre Zongge Orchestra, giving hideous Protection to followers, while collecting all sorts of madness.

You did all of this in search of emotional swings, so does that an—you actually feel nothing?"

Asmodeus’s smile froze, her face like ice. The deeply buried secret was easily grasped by Ewen. She wanted to stop him from continuing, but her body wouldn’t obey. As Ewen narrated, the typewriter rapidly spewed out sheets of paper, lines of text densely arranged on them.

"That’s it, so-called love, hate, joy, sadness, rcy, pity, romance, nostalgia, weariness, adoration, calmness, frenzy, fear, satisfaction..."

Ewen’s expression at this mont was like a Demon crawling out of a grave, using words as knives to pierce Asmodeus, leaving her riddled with gaping wounds.

Every note made Asmodeus increasingly hideous, as if revealed by secrets, overwheld with sha.

"You feel nothing, no emotions exist. Beneath your shell resides only a hollow, monotonous dark soul devoid of any fluctuations.

Hence, you stubbornly pursue sensory stimulation, attempting to make that pale heart of yours beat!"

Ewen looked at her with pity, towering above her.

"You are truly pitiful, Asmodeus."

"Shut up!"

Asmodeus shouted furiously at Ewen, swinging her fist forward. Her slender, pallid hand effortlessly pierced through Ewen’s abdon, staining her skin with his blood.

Ewen seed unbothered by the pain, retaining that pitying deanor, deeply stinging Asmodeus. She usually wasn’t incited so easily, but within the confines of the story, her Devil side was weakened, amplifying the humanity contained within the Identity Card.

Asmodeus was filled with rage.

"I curse you, Ewen. I curse everyone in the story. You will all be tornted ntally, shedding tears of anguish!"

Scarlet words were printed onto pristine paper, reality-warping power descending upon the world, sending mad illusions rushing before Ewen’s eyes, evoking mories of all his past sorrows which he laughed at instead.

Ewen never intended to side with anyone. From the beginning, he never esteed any Devil.

A reader once asked Ewen whether, in the stories he wrote, would he, too, faced with such darkness, make the sa choice as Hunters did, fighting Devils without fear, even if they perished unknown, never backing down.

At that ti, Ewen couldn’t answer the question. But now, he thought he could proudly respond.

He could.

...

After slaying the final resurrected dead, Bologue found the path leading upwards in the depths of the dark cave.

"It looks like this is the way to the dungeon."

Bologue turned around and spoke to the others. By the faint light of the Fla of the Cauldron, they saw piles of corpses covering the ground, so mounded like small hills.

All of Ewen’s stories were true, but he tinkered with so details. For instance, Ewen never ntioned he’d slaughtered so many Demons, he was practically a butcher.

"You know, sotis I think if Ewen beca a Condenser, he might be the best new employee of the year."

Bologue swung his sword, smashing the iron lock, kicking open the shaky door, coughing as dust billowed forth.

"I think so too."

Palr agreed, nodding. This year, people as fierce as Ewen were rare. If they made it out alive, Palr would surely invite Ewen to the Wind Source Highlands and introduce him to Vasilina.

"There’s really a dungeon here."

Aimou peeked out stealthily, revealing a corridor inside. Cages lined both sides, evident with stains and marks. Chains hung down, alongside various instrunts of torture.

Bologue could imagine Ewen tornting Demons, extracting information about the Extraordinary World from them. The execution capabilities of this great writer were beyond imagination. Reflecting on Ewen’s initial motivation, Bologue couldn’t help but feel the absurdity of reality.

Passing through the dungeon, pushing open another heavy door, Bologue and the others arrived at a workspace. The walls were pasted with cut-out newspaper clippings, alongside railway maps, each station marked with different colored indicators.

Piles of notebooks lay on the side, casually glanced through, filled with analyses of the Extraordinary World. It seed to be the second workspace Ewen spoke of, where he spent excessive ti seeking enticing knowledge.

In the corner were stacks of weapons, layered in thick gri, emitting a nauseating sll of blood. Bologue guessed Ewen probably smashed a lot of Demon skulls with them.

"Ready, everyone. Once we push open this door, we’ll officially enter Daisy Castle."

Bologue took a deep breath, clenched his grievance-infused sword, and used all his strength to push open the last door.

Behind the door was a silent, dim corridor filled with dust. Spiderwebs layered upon every corner. Ewen ntioned these in his books. Though he lived in the vast castle, he only inhabited the great library. Other areas seed deserted as if abandoned.

The vines had crept in through the cracks in the stones. Under the story’s distortion, the castle gradually beca unrecognizable.

Bologue initially thought they’d face assault upon entering the castle, yet surprisingly it was peaceful. But swiftly, gusts of cold wind surged through the corridor, producing wailing ghostly sounds along with the rustling of paper.

Sheets of white paper danced wildly on the wind. Bologue reached out and caught one, eyes scanning the shocking words written upon it.

"I’ve done it. I have activated the human component in Asmodeus’ Identity Card and successfully enraged her. Asmodeus wants to kill , and with my death, will this narrative layer collapse, stopping this catastrophe?

Ah... the tornt from Asmodeus approaches and psychic shock will radiate to everyone.

Hope you survive."

Bologue had no ti to decipher the ssage on the paper, feeling the powerful tremors from the stones, like a furious beast ravaging the castle.

Everyone’s heartbeat fluctuated with the quaking rhythm. Dust and wind obscuring Bologue’s vision, he heard Palr and Aimou’s screams. Preparing to aid them, but as he turned, Bologue faced a world unrecognizable.

The eerie castle vanished, replaced by dry, cracked scorched earth. Accompanied by a loud bugle, soldiers covered in pustules and twisted limbs erged from the trench, bayonets raised as they charged at Bologue.

The air reeked of sulfur, blood, and death.

Asmodeus’ tornt had co, dragging Bologue back into the battlefield. In a brief mont of absent-mindedness, Bologue raised his black grievance blade, roaring as he cut down the first head in this prolonged agony.