Bologue felt himself being assaulted by a cold ocean current, swept along helplessly, crashing through the darkness, his body battered and bruised. Ti blurred, and seconds stretched into infinity until, in a mont of absurdity, he was thrust back into the world.
His eyes, accustod to constant searing brightness, struggled to adjust to the corridor’s darkness. After a mont of thought, Bologue recognized the long corridor—he was back at Daisy Castle.
On a secondary narrative level, Bologue was rely under Asmodeus’s influence, subject to prolonged tornt. It might have taken him minutes to break free, but from Bologue’s perspective, he had been battling endless soldiers for a decade.
Am I now considered a centenarian?
This thought joke ca to Bologue’s mind, but before he could straighten up to assess his surroundings, a strong sensation crashed over him like a tide, gnawing at his nerves.
Pain, fatigue, hunger, drowsiness...
Bologue escaped from the eternal battlefield, but with him ca lingering negative states. Even Bologue, with his willpower, found it imnsely painful under such influence.
He doubled over, retching and coughing violently. In a daze, Bologue felt he was throwing up countless maggots wriggling through his vomit. But upon closer look, there was nothing—just hallucinations.
After a few minutes, Bologue recovered, using the wall to stand up and gazing at the black blade in his hand. Because of Asmodeus’s tornt, this newly forged blade felt like an old friend to Bologue, yet sadly, it only existed in this story. If possible, Bologue wished it could leave with him once this was all over.
Struggling to straighten his back, Bologue had so understanding of what Gold had endured in the Joyful Garden. No wonder a Defender would be on the brink of collapse; anyone would struggle to endure such calamity.
But Bologue was different; he endured it. Such thoughts made Bologue slightly proud, as the twisted Savior spirit buried deep within him erged once more.
Taking a quick glance around, Palr and Aimou lay beside him on the ground, brows furrowed as if suffering a nightmare.
Looking at Palr’s face, Bologue never found his partner’s sleeping face so endearing, and glancing at Aimou, waves of nostalgia surged.
A thin layer of dust had accumulated on them, indicating they had been unconscious for so ti. From deep within the castle, frantic fluctuations continued—like soone was battling a monster.
Ewen?
Bologue dismissed this thought; Ewen was just an ordinary person. It was already extrely difficult for him to parley with a Devil, let alone battle it.
A rustling sound ca from the darkness, as if countless rats were scurrying around. Imdiately, Bologue felt a strange sensation at his ankle; a slender vine snaked from the darkness, climbing up his body.
Almost simultaneously with Bologue’s realization, the vine wrapped tightly around him, exerting great force that tore his clothing and skin, almost breaking his bones. Fortunately, Bologue managed to slash the vine with Resentnt Bite, severing it with a single stroke.
The vine writhed for a few monts, like a decapitated python, spilling translucent, light green sap from the cut. More rustling followed from the darkness as more vines invaded the castle.
While Bologue was unconscious, the story continued, and preceding all stories, the invading darkness progressed.
The Devil’s power was affecting this land. Reality was fragnting and gradually distorting everything it touched. As Ether concentration relentlessly rose, they would obliterate everything within the domain, leading the story to complete annihilation.
It wasn’t just the vines invading and dismantling the castle; Bologue could also hear familiar growling sounds. The corridor’s swirling air was filled with a heavy stench of blood.
A dense sound of movent echoed all around, as if hundreds of beasts were charging relentlessly toward Bologue’s location.
"Never-ending, huh."
Bologue complained as he tried to awaken Palr and Aimou, but they were evidently not as strong as Bologue, still trapped by the psychological impact.
Seeing no hope of waking them, Bologue quickly removed his coat, simply tearing it to twist into a rope. He hoisted the still unconscious Aimou onto his back, coiling it around.
As for Palr, he was too cumberso to carry on his back. Bologue decided to drag him by the hand through the corridor, listening to the scraping sound. He guessed Palr’s clothes would most likely get torn, leaving him bloody and raw.
Oh well, staying alive is fortunate enough.
The stench of blood hit Bologue squarely in the face. Thanks to Asmodeus’s tornt, during those ten long years of suffering, Bologue learned nothing but his skill in slaughter had doubled.
Like a skilled Butcher, he effortlessly bisected an erging Demon with a swift, lethal stroke before it could even attack, needing no extraneous moves or slashes—everything was for efficiency.
Hoisting Palr around his waist, Bologue ascended the spiral staircase, knowing Ewen was in the grand library. Yet the problem was Bologue didn’t know where the grand library was. He could only trace the source of the anomalous power fluctuations.
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