According to the Order Bureau’s regulations, when Bologue, as a Condenser, carries out missions, the enemies he encounters are mostly of the same level, rarely involving Prayer Believers as enemies, and the possibility of encountering Negative Power Users is even lower.
Clearly, today’s mission doesn’t fit these rules, let alone Prayer Believers, there were even several Negative Power Users that appeared.
Experts can handle tricky situations, but that doesn’t mean experts can deal with matters beyond their own capabilities, in such cases, they don’t need experts, they need a Savior.
Is Bologue a Savior? Even if he believes himself to be a Savior, unfortunately, he currently lacks the abilities of one.
Two figures dash rapidly one after the other, in the deep corridors, Bologue really feels like he is robbing a bank now, holding the Immortal Heart in his arms, the frantic intentions simmering in his embrace.
Bologue is separated from it by a layer of containment, yet he can clearly feel the Immortal Heart continuously calling to the surrounding corrupt roots and buds, as if it possessed a certain consciousness.
The road behind collapses, crumbles, and the surrounding walls seep out countless crimson tendrils, Palmer initially able to let out screams, but now he doesn’t have the strength to make any noise and can only flee together with Bologue.
The speed when they came was very fast, because Bologue could feel the fluctuations of the Immortal Heart, but it’s different now, the Immortal Heart is in hand, and this labyrinth is so complex, they don’t know where these roads will lead, they can only charge forward heedlessly.
"Is that the teacher?"
Aimou’s voice arises in the mind, the violent Ethereal Fluctuation behind her is clear and visible.
"It should be... but it’s not certain," replied Bologue, "maybe once the mask is removed, it’s another person."
This situation is quite bad, Teda’s ugly form is laid bare before Aimou, and who knows what kind of mood he would be in if he knew Aimou was also present.
Perhaps Teda wouldn’t have any feelings, originally treating Aimou as a tool or a substitute, why should her thoughts matter to him?
Bologue chooses not to continue guessing, nor does he speak definitively.
"Why? We all know the person under the mask is him." Aimou’s voice is devoid of emotion.
"Sometimes underneath the mask, there might still be a mask."
Bologue recalled the performer who died by his hand, to this day Bologue remembers this principle.
Everyone wears different masks, beneath the mask, still is a mask.
"I say, expert, are you sure you have no plans?" Palmer quickened his steps, moving alongside Bologue, "I’m about to exhaust myself, even the Ether is running out, soon he’ll catch up!"
Palmer feels like he’s running a marathon, except it’s a deadly marathon.
Behind them the din is continuous, glimpses of the Delusional’s mask can be seen in the deep darkness, the once pallid hue now painted in blood from the tendrils.
"Threaten him with Alice’s Philosopher’s Stone?" Bologue came up with such a bad idea.
"Ha, that’s not good, is it?"
Palmer’s remaining nobility bursts forth, making such a decision difficult.
"Remember our roles?" Bologue said, "We’re the villains! What’s wrong with villains acting this way?"
"Don’t drag me into this! You’re the one playing the villain all the time, okay?" Palmer’s tone shifts, "But that idea is actually great! Hurry, let her out!"
Bologue gives Palmer a complex look; he really shouldn’t have put any expectations on him.
"Aimou, now our lives are in your hands," Bologue thinks for a moment and adds, "to be accurate, Palmer’s life is in your hands."
He himself is an Undead, at most he’ll be knocked unconscious; the most important thing is not to lose the Immortal Heart.
Aimou is unclear about what Bologue plans to do, but from listening to the recent conversation between Bologue and Palmer, she can discern this isn’t likely a good thing.
Bologue opened his mouth, ready to explain to Aimou their despicable strategy, when the entire hallway plunged into violent shaking, a terrifying tremor sound continuously echoed, the pervasive dust completely veiling the vision, followed by crimson flesh emerging from the ruptured walls.
Without understanding what is happening, Bologue can acutely sense the frantic agitation erupting from his arms.
The Immortal Heart is agitated, seemingly possessing self-awareness, calling the corrupted roots and buds to arrive, crimson tendrils charging rampantly, Bologue dodging several times narrowly avoiding being hit, while behind, the Delusional exerts himself fully, wielding blades and swords grinding these flesh into pieces.
Palmer shouted beside him, the intense agitation, even Palmer the Debtor could sense it.
Bologue’s palm feels a sharp sting, crimson thorns gnaw at his hand, it’s only then he notices, after consecutive battles, the shell of the containment has developed some cracks, crimson flesh struggling through the gaps, escaping confinement, still expanding the cracks.
Bologue couldn’t help but sigh in the face of this situation.
In his short career, this was probably the most difficult situation he had encountered. Behind him was the Delusional, a persistent pursuer, and outside were the raving monsters of Corrupt Roots. He was also holding a bomb, unsure when it would completely explode...
No one knew the scale to which the Corrupt Roots had grown. Under its pressure, the road ahead was collapsing bit by bit. Several times, Bologue was nearly hit by falling rocks, and he had no time to determine his path, only able to dash toward the end of the darkness.
Pressure, injuries, Ether exhaustion...
Everything was constantly slowing Bologue’s body until the Delusional caught up with him.
Another mutation burst out, like the mouth of the Abyss breaking through the corridor, replacing the road and confronting him.
"What should we do!" Palmer shouted.
Continuing forward would mean rushing into the monster’s mouth, but stopping would mean getting captured by the Delusional. There was no other way out.
"Take deep breaths! Hold your breath!"
Bologue quickly stepped forward, running ahead of Palmer, Deceitful Snake Scale Silver covering his body, shaping into heavy Iron Armor.
"And... don’t look, Aimou."
Bologue, showing rare concern, said, as he gathered a silver-white lance from the snakes in his hands.
"Don’t block the way!"
With Bologue’s furious roar, the silver-white lance pierced into the monster’s mouth, dragging Bologue’s whole body into it.
The anticipated penetration of flesh did not occur. The monster’s body was significantly larger than it appeared outside, and Bologue felt like he had crashed into a mass of meat mountain.
He did not stop; driven by Ethereal Amplification, he unleashed even stronger power, piercing through flesh, snapping bones. The monster let out a series of groans and wails, while Bologue laughed loudly, rampaging through its body.
Bologue was breaking the path ahead, Palmer closely following behind. He had to stay tight, as the flesh Bologue destroyed was regenerating, internally twisting into countless tendrils attacking the two.
Extremely dangerous, yet full of vitality.
The flesh monster was blocking both the two and the Delusional, more crucially, its body spanned the entire underground. The two might carve a path through its body into another area.
The only thing not quite right was the feeling of traversing through flesh; it was too much like roaming in Hell.
Aimou didn’t heed Bologue’s words. She didn’t look away, but constantly observed everything happening in front of her.
Inside the monster’s dark body, the glow of an Alchemy Matrix illuminated one corner. Amidst chaotic dimness, scarlet flesh rapidly writhed, its sticky surface covered in blood threads and darkened veins, pierced entirely by the silver-white lance, spraying large splashes of fresh blood.
It felt like being submerged in a deep sea of flesh, with pale skeletal corals and branch-like sprouts rising like seaweed... a group of pitiable souls drowning in a hellish ocean, struggling to escape to heaven.
Eventually, the lance pierced through the last layer of flesh, the suffocating stench weakened considerably.
Heavy flesh had wrapped Bologue into a blood-covered figure, his visor blocked, unable to see the road ahead, relying only on the feeling from the lance to advance.
Now the resistance on the lance vanished, his whole body lifted and fell, surprisingly piercing through the monster’s body, emerging from it.
His entire body crashed heavily onto the ground. After a brief pause, the Armor popped open, tearing apart the flesh covering it as well.
With steaming heat, Bologue struggled to crawl out of the discarded Armor. Before he could stand, he leaned on the ground, retching.
Another retching sound came from Palmer, who looked terrible. At least Bologue had the protection of Iron Armor, whereas Palmer had a close encounter with the flesh.
Now Palmer was covered in a thick layer of sticky flesh. After gagging several times, he reached out with effort and tore the flesh stuck on him.
Palmer let out a cry of lamentation, as the flesh clung to him while also devouring his own flesh. Tearing off the Corrupt Roots’ flesh was like tearing off a layer of his own skin, leaving his skin surface bloody.
But Palmer had no choice; letting this flesh continue to grow would result in his body being entirely consumed.
Once Bologue recovered, he walked over, accompanied by the sound of tearing and lament, exerting great effort to clean the flesh off Palmer, leaving him unconscious due to the severe pain.
After ensuring his partner wouldn’t die for the time being, Bologue turned to inspect the surrounding environment. Above was a blood flesh construct slowly healing; it was where he fell from.
Regarding the Delusional, Bologue could not detect his Ether response for now. He guessed he might have shaken off the Delusional.
He looked down at what was in his hands. The container was already covered in flesh, its surface started hardening like some tough Armor, under the shell with bulging protrusions, faint heartbeat sounds were emanating.
Bologue took a deep breath, comforting himself that the situation couldn’t be worse, when footsteps approached from ahead.