Endless Debt

Chapter 1186 - 30: Domination_2

In this mad Extraordinary World, an Undying Body was no longer anything rare.Heavy shadows completely shrouded York. After a brief moment of shock, he tried to fight back again. With the awakening of power, chains wrapped around York’s torso, sinking into his flesh and blood. A strength far beyond what York himself possessed was bestowed upon him, but when that power tried to swell further, it seemed to hit a bottleneck and could no longer grow.

An inexplicable sigh drifted over.

York did not possess an Alchemy Matrix; no matter how much his strength was raised, it would ultimately remain bound within mortality. From the very beginning, he had been just an unlucky bastard who had blundered into the Extraordinary World.

"Night Race? How can a Night Race be here?"

Tino panted heavily; as he spoke, he swung his blade in passing, carving another savage wound across York’s body.

So long as you keep dealing continuous damage to an Undead, forcing him to exhaust himself on regeneration, you can greatly limit his power.

A reek of blood, tainted with a metallic aftertaste, spread through the air. York collapsed to the floor, groaning in agony. The pain hammered at his mind, but what was even harder to endure than the wounds was his body’s craving—for flesh and blood.

Ever since becoming one of the Night Race, York had done his utmost to Control his bloodthirst. He had turned the basement into a cell to bind himself, and when necessary he would suck the blood of animals. He tried hard not to cross that red line. Yet the more he restrained himself, the more the desire in his heart swelled out of Control, mad and unchecked.

At the same time, deprived of blood’s nourishment, York grew ever weaker. His regenerative speed began to slow, until it was no different from that of an ordinary human.

Tino had noticed this too, and was all the more surprised. "You’re not even a Condenser?"

Seeing this, that strange, awkward feeling in Tino’s heart grew even more jarring. The one obstructing their actions turned out to be a Night Race—and one that wasn’t even a Condenser.

Tino couldn’t make sense of the cause and course of events. The scene before his eyes felt like the product of someone’s twisted sense of humor.

"Blood..."

York seemed to be saying something. Tino lowered his head, trying to catch his words—and suddenly, the dying York stretched out a hand, seizing Tino’s head in one grab. Just as Tino had been gnawing on his flesh, York clamped his jaws on Tino’s throat and began to gulp down blood.

"Blood!"

York growled in his throat. He knew full well the difference between himself and Tino, but he still refused to admit defeat.

Under the statue’s gaze, York was like a Demon. His expression grew more and more twisted; their mingled blood flowed across the floor, exuding a rancid stench.

Tino drove his blade in again and again, stabbing York’s organs into a blur of mangled meat as he tried to tear himself free. But York was unmoved, caring only for that boundless malice.

As the blood poured down his throat, that uncontrollable hunger finally eased. With it came a steadily rising vitality, a surge of strength coursing through his bloodline. York could clearly sense himself coming back to life, just like that night—but his eyes could not help shedding tears of blood.

Under this evil power, York’s moral bottom line was being broken again and again. The moment he thought of how he was slowly sinking into the Abyssal mire, that inner conflict rose up anew.

Yet he could not refuse. He had to live. He had to destroy certain people, certain things.

Tino finally tore free of York’s bite; the price was that the flesh that had just healed on his neck was once more sheared away in great chunks. Blood gushed forth. York sprang to his feet, clutching his torn abdomen to keep his viscera from spilling out.

In the dim church, more tiny lights flared to life. The enemies who had come tonight were not Tino alone.

The brief, brutal melee had ended. Worn thin by York, Tino had exhausted all patience; now he wanted only to annihilate York completely.

"Kill him!"

In an instant, gunfire roared.

Several bullets punched through York’s body first, and then more Ether reactions flared up. Weird, manic laughter rose one after another.

As the fanatics of the Crimson Rot Sect, they were all under the Protection of the Crimson Queen. So long as there was sufficient flesh and blood, every one of them possessed an Undying Body. That cruel bloodbath just now had been nothing more than a commonplace affair to them.

The bullets were like a barrage of heavy fists, battering York’s body back step after step. His mind grew a little hazy. That furious voice by his ear grew even louder, as if trying to slip in through the cracks and steal York’s sanity.

If I could kill them all...

With that thought, York’s body moved of its own accord. He suddenly swept his chains out. Though there was clearly no Ether being channeled into them, the chains now manifested an Extraordinary power. As they lashed and swept, the chains rapidly split into several strands, like a storm of steel being whipped up.

The fanatic closest to York was still laughing, utterly unconcerned by York’s counterattack. They had all already realized that York did not possess an Alchemy Matrix.

But when the chains struck the fanatic’s body, it was as if he had been seized by some predator charging at high speed. Razor-like thorns and barbs tore his skin and flesh apart, while the brutal force transmitted from the metal shattered his bones.

His body twisted grotesquely and shattered outright into several chunks. Thick blood slurry sprayed across more than half the church, leaving behind a lingering fog of gore that refused to disperse.

Tino was stunned. That fanatic hadn’t so much been smashed apart by the chains as he had, at the very instant of contact, received a command to be destroyed.

Commands cannot be defied. So he dissolved into a clot of filthy blood.

Then Tino looked back at York—and that sight was enough to make his scalp crawl.

The chains, like thorns, were piercing straight through York’s flesh, burrowing deep inside him. They writhed and crawled within his body like a huge python, as if endowed with Life Force, surging toward York’s heart and brain without regard for anything else, trying to seize him completely.

York’s body convulsed. His eyes turned scarlet, his breathing heavy and deep. A hoarse voice rasped from his mouth.

"Kill... kill you all..."

The chains drove through York’s body one by one, mercilessly stabbing into every pore, every inch of muscle, every single blood vessel.

Waves of agony crashed over him. York felt as though he had been cast into Hell itself. His distorted face contorted further in pain, his whole body trembling in restless agitation.

Tino stared fixedly at York, as though some other horrific existence were trying to devour York, turning him into the vessel of its descent into the world—a terror born for committing evil.

A fractured silhouette slowly surfaced behind York. The fragments collided and fused, becoming a gigantic wolf, the color of blood.

It opened its jaws wide and slowly took York into its throat.

York’s body began to convulse violently. A shrill howl tore from his mouth, as if he were trying to vent every last shred of his madness and rage. The veins in his eyes bulged red as he glared viciously ahead, fixing his gaze on Tino.

Tino shuddered involuntarily. He stepped back and stumbled over the scattered remains of shattered flesh and broken bone.

York walked toward them all. Under the domination of the Power of Fury, the chains had fully transformed into crimson thorns. They writhed out of York’s wounds, like innumerable arms flailing wildly in midair, twisting, warping, jerking around without pattern.

Anything struck by the thorns was easily pulverized. Someone regained his senses and opened fire on York, but that did nothing to halt his advance. Others tried to unleash their Secret Energy, yet streams of Ether shattered under the thorns’ vibrations before they could even touch York.

Tino could not at all comprehend what he was seeing. The power radiating from the chains was already beyond what any Alchemy Armament could achieve... a Contract Object?

"Slaughter... every last sinner!"

York roared. Under the rampant growth of the thorns, his body was already broken almost beyond recognition, yet they still bound him firmly together. Countless thorns lunged toward everyone present—but just as they were about to spear through flesh and bone, the church doors were pushed open once more.

All at once, the world fell silent. Even time itself seemed to congeal. Everyone froze in the pose of their last movement, stuck in place, unable to move. York was no exception.

High-concentration Ether vented soundlessly, filling the entire church. The Power of Command seized every person in an instant. Even the power of the Thorny Pain Lock was firmly, brutally suppressed.

Bologue stood in the doorway, his cold, cyan gaze sweeping over one face after another, finally coming to rest on York.