Chapter 46 - 22: Love Work

Chapter 46: Chapter 22: Love WorkAfter the roaring dust, in the dim light of the ruins, only a single figure remained standing, signaling the final victor. "Cough, cough..." Norm groaned in pain, lying on the ground, as the fierce blow from the Shock Hammer had sunk the surrounding ground considerably, embedding him into it. Thanks to the enhancement of "Dragon Blood," the blow from the Shock Hammer didn’t kill him but left him utterly powerless, his chest had caved in, ribs were completely broken, and every breath brought the pain of a sharp blade cutting through, with blood gushing out. His arms were completely twisted and broken, and the glow of the "Alchemy Matrix" on his body had dimmed, as if it would extinguish at any second. "Ha... Ha..." Norm took deep breaths, although in such a miserable state, he knew Bologue must be in no better condition. Bologue had lost his left hand, and when he smashed Norm’s chest, the poison from his own "Dragon Blood" must have splattered onto himself. The poison would spread throughout his body, and eventually, Bologue would die from heart paralysis and respiratory failure. The surrounding dust gradually dispersed, and a ghostly figure appeared beside Norm. "Ah... is it over just like that? It seems somewhat incomplete." A ghostly voice resounded, and Norm widened his eyes, watching Bologue walk out of the smoke. His head hung low, and the demon’s face was ragged, overlapping with his original appearance. Evil and reality intertwined. Bologue tore off the sticky skin from his face, threw aside the demon’s visage, revealing a face covered with dirty blood yet ghastly pale, eyes glowing with a sharp azure hue. "How... is this possible?" Norm began to breathe rapidly, struggling to get up, but he couldn’t, and soon the "Alchemy Matrix" on his body faded completely, the restless "Dragon Blood" coming to a halt. "Nothing is impossible, just like I never thought I’d love this job so much." Bologue spoke to himself, raising his left hand, where bones were rapidly reconstructing, followed by veins and muscles, flesh kept growing until new skin enveloped them once more. "Good as new!" Bologue excitedly waved his hand, showing Norm his newly regenerated palm. Fear gradually filled Norm’s eyes. "Don’t worry, friend, the boss wants you alive, so you won’t die... at least not here." Bologue reassured Norm with a friendly tone. He ripped off the tattered rags hanging from his body, revealing the gray-black trench coat beneath, which had remarkably little stained blood thanks to Bologue’s careful protection, only around the collar and cuffs was there some bloodstain. He adjusted the tight tie around his neck to ease his breathing, under the tie, the shirt was entirely dyed red. Bologue shrugged his shoulders, even in Hell, one must maintain the dignity and elegance due. The scene in front of him unexpectedly turned harmonious; Norm lay on the ground, barely alive, while Bologue stood beside him adjusting his attire, then walked to the side to pick up a suitcase. Opening the case, unsurprisingly, a sparkling Ruby lay in the corner of the suitcase; the rest of it contained various dark red potions that surprisingly remained undamaged throughout the fierce battle. "Truly beautiful." Bologue casually picked up a Philosopher’s Stone, despite the fibrous impurities within, its clarity and soul’s deliciousness remained utterly captivating. It was like solidified blood. "You can take these things away; no one would refuse them, whether for the souls they contain or their inherent value." Norm slanted his gaze at Bologue, ensnaring him with temptation. Bologue did not respond, simply holding up the Philosopher’s Stone, observing it calmly. Just like that time with Reid, the Philosopher’s Stone emitted a strange magic power, seizing all of Bologue’s attention. Within its clear crimson color, the sediment-like fibrous matter seemed to wriggle slowly, just like smoke trapped within the gemstone. They slowly transformed, like a vortex, devouring Bologue’s will, awakening his most primal and fervent desires. Norm noticed the now completely composed Bologue, a hint of excitement rising in his heart. Having handled Philosopher’s Stones before, Norm was well aware of the peculiar power of these "Canyin’s physical forms." These most precious "Golden Souls" belonging only to humans were endowed with magic power. The kind of magic power that drove one insane. Demons would use it to fill the hungry void, while humans would foster dreadful greed due to the brilliant crimson, desiring to possess it forever. In Norm’s eyes, it was clear that Bologue had likely never come into contact with a Philosopher’s Stone and was easily beguiled by its magic power. What Norm didn’t know was that Bologue was a Debtor, and his soul was already flawed, such potent magical allure would be further magnified on Bologue. Swallow the Philosopher’s Stone, satisfy the restless void. Small, dense whispers sounded by the ear, they seemed to be reciting or perhaps praising something, sung since unknowable times, continuing to this day, and even into the future. Yes, just like that, succumb further to the temptation. Norm watched all of this with anticipation; all he needed was a little more time to recover some of his strength, to release the "Secret Energy" once more, and perhaps he would have the chance to strike back at Bologue. Bologue raised the Philosopher’s Stone, inching it closer until it was almost touching his face... "Crunch." Sёarᴄh the NôᴠeFire.ηet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. A strange sound echoed, and Norm froze, then screamed. "What are you doing!" "Oh, nothing, nothing... I’ve always wanted to try it," Bologue spat out the Philosopher’s Stone from his mouth, still covering it with his hand, complaining, "This thing is really hard, how do demons eat it? Swallow it whole?" Norm didn’t answer, but looked at Bologue with the eyes of someone watching a madman. "As expected from something formed by the condensation of souls, it looks quite impressive." Bologue toyed with the slobbery Philosopher’s Stone, glancing at Norm, as if mocking him, then tossed the Philosopher’s Stone at him, hitting him on the head. He seemed to be addicted to the game, holding a suitcase in one hand while tossing the Philosopher’s Stone back and forth, the precious Philosopher’s Stone scattering all over the ground like a child’s cheap toy. "You look a bit surprised, don’t you? What? Did you think I’d clutch these gems and lick them endlessly?" Bologue looked at Norm with contempt. Though he had been carefree when throwing the Philosopher’s Stones, he now had to obediently pick them up again. He wasn’t sure how to release these poor souls; he had to bring these items to Lebius. "Are you pretending? Pretending to be tempted, just to humiliate me?" Norm was utterly hopeless, no longer thinking about resisting. "No, I truly am somewhat... ’bewitched’?" Bologue said nonchalantly, collecting the Philosopher’s Stones and placing them back next to the dark red potion, then locking the suitcase tightly. "You can’t... escape this easily." Norm didn’t understand; he remembered his first time being tempted, cutting himself, relying on the sharp pain to crawl out of that stupor, but Bologue before him was so at ease, as if he had no desires. "Yes, everyone lives for something, tempted and driven by various things," Bologue agreed with Norm’s words; escaping one’s desires is difficult, "like wealth, fame, status, power..." "Looking at it this way, humans are really complex, and desires are incredibly diverse." He said as he pulled Norm up from the ground, the intense pain causing Norm to let out low growls, his twisted and broken limbs drooping helplessly, chains binding him, dragged like a dead dog by Bologue. "But, my desires are a bit different from everyone else’s." Bologue held the suitcase in one hand and dragged Norm with the other, leaving a long trail of blood on the ground. "I seek to punish the wicked, villains like you, watching you suffer, watching you endure torment, watching you wail endlessly..." Norm couldn’t see Bologue’s face, only the gray and black silhouette, with fierce and terrifying words spilling from his mouth. This was a moody monster, who would comically bite the Philosopher’s Stone and also violently slay enemies, seemingly approachable, able to chat even with foes, yet beneath his words hid hatred and anger. "This hatred burns too hot, too hot for those illusory promises to ever beguile me... After all, you’re right here beside me, aren’t you?" Bologue let out a chilling laugh. "But... do you think there are gods in this world?" Norm didn’t answer; he began to realize Bologue’s mental issues; nothing could change his fate by talking with such a madman. "I hope for a god of brutality and terror." Bologue kept the conversation with Norm going. "If such a being existed, I might really believe in them, much like the work I’m doing now." Stopping before a wall, Bologue couldn’t stop muttering. "Wow, to legally and rightfully sanction you wicked ones from Monday to the weekend, earning money for it, with meal expenses, travel subsidies, and legal holidays to rest, even a year-end bonus..." Bologue babbled about things Norm couldn’t comprehend at all. "What a wonderful job, isn’t it!" Seeing Norm not responding, Bologue kicked him twice, making the heavily injured and bleeding man a bit more alert. "Stop playing dead; as a Condenser, you shouldn’t die that easily." Norm’s face was pale; Condensers might not die easily, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t die. Bologue squatted down, looking at Norm, then at the wall beside him, he asked. "What do you think should be engraved on a commemorative coin?" Excitedly rubbing his hands, Bologue imagined that beautiful scene, then grasped a folding knife and walked towards the blank wall. A sharp and complex sound arose, like a sharp knife scraping against the wall, using scars as a pen, blood as paint. Bologue moved with a cheerful gait, each footstep striking like a drumbeat on Norm’s heart. It was the most eerie and sinister sound Norm had ever heard in his life, clear footsteps treading upon a pool of blood, with a slippery and sticky sensation, as if some unspeakable entity danced there. It had an unstable form, capricious, sometimes with countless appendages, sometimes with a carapace as hard as blades, it was the howling wind of a fierce winter, the blazing sun of a scorching summer. It was terror, brutality, rage...