Endless Debt-Chapter 813 - 267: A Dull and Dreary Life
Like the eternal battlefield of gods and demons in mythology, the cannon fire never ceased, shells hitting the ground and spraying countless shards, cutting through everything in their path. The trenches were filled with heaps of reeking corpses, and the soldiers, as if twisted by some malevolent force, gradually lost their human forms, roaring and brandishing bayonets like soulless zombies.
Gusts of wind swept in, lifting up clouds of yellow sand. Behind the sand, a suffocating low hum resonated over the battlefield. Swarms of black flies soared like vultures, crawling into the corpses and leaving behind countless wriggling white maggots.
From above, on the scorched earth, the soldiers looked like innumerable ants, waving their deformed limbs, launching a charge at that sole enemy, only to be shattered on the way by the black blade, much like meat on a production line, ground into delicate mince by a meat grinder.
The soldiers felt no fear from their broken bodies. On the contrary, they continued to advance by stepping over fallen corpses, accompanied by meaningless roars and sacrifices. Finally, one soldier got close to the true enemy.
The bayonet gleamed blindingly as the soldier used all his strength to stab at the enemy, yet this attack, which cost countless lives, only lightly scratched the man’s skin. Then the soldier was cleaved in half by the black blade.
The cycle of sacrifice and death repeated endlessly.
At the moment of true death, the soldier glared angrily at the enemy. He had no mind; whether he was even human anymore was uncertain. Under the manifestation of the evil force, they all became increasingly twisted, like monsters in stories.
Beneath the empty shell, the soldiers played the role of executioners in this prolonged torment. But if they had minds, they would certainly plunge into despair deeper than that of the executioners.
Yes, at some point, the roles reversed. The soldiers instead became the executed, trapped with that mad monster in this nearly eternal space.
They could not kill the monster, and the monster, in turn, tortured them with eternal time.
"This is a trial."
A devout, prayer-like voice echoed among the soldiers. The black blade whipped up a storm, and its sharp edge sliced through countless bodies, casting large swathes of blood into the air, which turned into an unending rain of blood falling relentlessly.
Blood soaked into the earth, and the ground, as if stained by blood countless times, had long turned a crimson hue. Looking around, the entire battlefield transformed into a land of scarlet.
On the precarious heap of corpses, a staggering figure emerged. His clothes were tattered, barely enough to cover himself. His exposed skin was covered in scars, some healed, some still bleeding, and much accumulated blood had coagulated into patches of scabs.
Leaning on his sword, he gazed at the soldiers charging at him again. It was hard to determine if these beings still qualified as soldiers. Underneath familiar uniforms were twisted bodies, yet he did not think much, merely facing it all with a blank expression, as if it were routine work, cutting down all enemies that came close.
Occasionally, some soldiers would open fire at him, but such soldiers were few, just like those who used artillery or operated tanks. Handling such tools was not a simple task for them, who had morphed into monsters.
At times, he felt fortunate for this, as it greatly reduced the pressure he faced.
Warm blood splashed on his cheek. He licked his chapped lips, taking in the warm liquid. In this prolonged torment, it was his only means to quench his thirst.
"Bologue... Bologue Lazarus."
He recited his name to ensure he wouldn’t get lost in the slaughter. His weary eyes regained their bright shine. Bologue hacked sideways, decapitating a soldier, hoisted the body on his back, and charged forward.
His gaunt body seemed to contain boundless power. Bologue easily pushed through the crowd charging at him. Bullets rained down on the corpse hoisted on his back. As Bologue leaped over another trench filled with bodies, he tossed aside the body and pierced through the soldier holding a firearm.
More soldiers surrounded him, their bayonets fused with their flesh. They made wailing sounds, while Bologue, just like the hundreds or thousands of times before, slaughtered them all, leaving a field strewn with corpses.
The bodies piled high, like a giant throne. Bologue sat amid the heap of corpses. Apart from the endless buzzing of flies, the battlefield was eerily silent.
These were the rare peaceful moments Bologue found amidst the prolonged torment. The scorching sunlight burned his body, sending waves of dull pain throughout. Since stepping into this hell, that sun hadn’t set. It scrutinized him mercilessly, like the eye of the Celestial God.
Bologue had tried finding shade, but most of the trenches were filled with bodies, or crawling with maggots. Even in such a miserable state, Bologue wished to maintain some dignity, to avoid letting those maggots crawl onto his body.
