Chapter 100: Nostalgia (1)
POP!
The sound of a balloon popping echoed through the water.
For a moment, Vikir felt his mind being snapped.
A tremendous impact struck his entire body.
But this time, the seasoned hound didn't step on death's door.
Grabbing onto the broken cord, Vikir gritted his teeth and endured the impact of the fall on his entire body.
He looks up and sees that his limbs are still attached.
Vikir breathes a sigh of relief despite the pain. Now that he knew the outside of his body was intact, it was time to check the inside.
... The inside was in better shape than he expected.
My head was cracked, all my ribs were broken, all my bones were fractured, my legs were bent in weird directions, and my muscles, organs, and blood vessels were torn apart.
The pain and wounds would have killed a normal person several times over, but not Vikir, who possessed extraordinary regenerative powers.
This was an injury that could be repaired with the help of the Bog Salamander's Wraith imprisoned within the magic sword Beelzebub.
"...Exquisite."
Vikir checked the giant pillow where he had fallen.
It was the decomposed, gassy carcass of a Boggy Bog Salamander.
It had been attacked by swarms of bone-sucking mosquitoes, leaving its tough skin filled with blood, flesh, and soft organs.
The unfortunate salamander had been alive until Vikir climbed the crag, and apparently died while Vikir was at the top of the peak fighting Madame.
The salamander's death and decomposition caused gas to build up in its tough skin, which made it even more puffy, and Vikir fell on top of it.
Needless to say, this didn't soften the impact.
Falling on water is still a shock.
Vikir pushed himself up through the pain.
"At least it didn't have the salamander's bones."
If the salamander's carcass had a solid skeleton holding it together, Vikir would have been even more traumatized by the impact.
Luckily, the bone-sucking mosquitoes had eaten all of the salamander's bones, so she was spared.
But.
His physical injuries were mostly healed, but he couldn't help the stench.
The impact of Vikir's fall had exploded the salamander's carcass, sending gases, rotting guts, and blood everywhere.
The stench was sickening.
The stench is unimaginable, given that it's the salamander that stinks so badly, and the rotting stench that's added to it.
If you ever get out of here, you'll probably have to stay in the bath for days straight.
... but.
The stench wasn't the issue right now.
Vikir had something else he needed to check first.
"...."
Vikir turned his gaze to the solid rock in the distance.
On it lay a large, bloody chunk of meat.
Madame Eight-Legged, as powerful as she was, apparently didn't have the stamina to withstand the impact of a fall down a cliff.
"Well. You must have sustained quite a few injuries when you raided Balak's tribe.'
Her entire exoskeleton had been shattered, all her vital organs-bones, lungs, heart-had been spilled to the ground, and many of her legs were bent in grotesque ways.
But amazingly, Madame is still alive.
She barely manages to pull herself upright, shaking her half-exploded and mashed body.
Beneath her, mangled intestines ooze out of her.
"...."
Vikir stretched and walked slowly toward Madame.
Madame. Even a demon of depht can't help but feel fear when they see the shadow of death looming over them.
Madame shuddered as she met Vikir's red eyes.
It was an emotion that coursed through her bones, down to the very core of her exoskeleton. It was fear, 100% pure.
"...Are you afraid?"
[....]
"Are you afraid of death too?"
Vikir laughed dryly, twisting the corners of his mouth where rotten blood had dried.
Madame felt the brains in her shattered skull, torn into pieces, shrinking away.
With each step Vikir took, her heart thudded against the outside of her ribs.
The old madam, whose intelligence and memory had been sharpened by her long life, had imprinted Vikir's current appearance in her mind.
The flickering vision, the approaching terror, the looming death, and the hound, the death dog!
[Zaarak...]
The sound of the beast's cries was small and feeble, like a child's whimper.
Madame staggered backwards, dazed, dazed, dazed.
The burst mucus sac was oozing out of her, but she didn't seem to mind.
Vikir staggered up to her and plunged his awl into her back.
...Pfft!
Beelzebub dug deep into the cracks in the tarnished armor.
Madame shuddered and struggled, but her movements were entirely aimed at escape, and she showed no sign of fighting back.
...pow! ...pow! ...pow! ...pow!
The awl sank like teeth. Bikir's assault continued.
He had no strength left in his belly, so all he could do was press down with his body weight, but still, he was surely diminishing Madame point by point.
Karma.
The Wraiths of all the Balak warriors who had died innocently, and the Wraiths of all the natives of all the tribes of the jungle who had died countless times before, were weighing on Vikir's wrist.
The karma she had accumulated up to this point had become experience points, making him stronger... but not as strong as he was at this moment.
The touch of these many Wraiths dragging her down into the depths of the abyss was clearly self-inflicted.
Gulp! Gulp! Gulp! Gulp!
Soon, Madame's soul began to be sucked into the orb of Beelzebub.
<Binge Fly 'Beelzebub'> / Awl
-1 slot: Burn-Cerberus (A+)
Slot -2: Silent Hill – Monsieur Hushu(A+)
Slot -3: Super Regeneration – Swamp Salamander (A+)
Three formidable creatures of A+ danger.
Their Wraiths originally occupied each of the three orbs beneath Beelzebub's blade, creating a tense power balance.
The new arrival, Madame's Wraith, upset the balance.
Madame's Wraith was the first to seek out the slot that held the Wraith of Cerberus, with whom it had never gotten along with regarding similar territory.
[grrrr...]
The Wraith of Cerberus, who had long occupied the first slot of the Red Ball, bared its teeth at Madame's intrusion.
As a Wraith, Cerberus still remembers the humiliation of being stripped of his territory by Madame and banished to the Seventh Ridge.
But the hierarchy of the Wraith world is generally not much different from that of the living.
Madame was vicious as a Wraith.
[Cackle! Cackle!]
As in life, Madame took Cerberus's territory and set up a nest in its place.
<Binge Fly 'Beelzebub'> / Awl
-1 slot: Venomous-Madame Eight-Legged (S)
Slot -2: Silent Hill – Monsieur Hushu (A+)
Slot -3: Super Regeneration – Swamp Salamander (A+)
Finally, Beelzebub's first slot changed owners.
The passive skill that Vikir gained from it was Venom, a poison so concentrated that there was nothing in the world that could match it.
It flowed into Vikir's body and soon dissolved into his red blood.
While harmless to Vikir himself, it would probably be a deadly poison to others.
Meanwhile.
Madame was still fleeing at this moment, frantically shaking the ground.
Despite the fact that part of her soul had become a wraith and fallen prey to Beelzebub, she was still minimally conscious and attempting to escape.
Perhaps it was because her brain had been shattered into many pieces.
Vikir had tried to hold on with his sword in Madame's back pack, but he could not help her fading consciousness.
He hadn't eaten or slept since his recent climb, and his body had been completely rebuilt nearly twice, so he had every reason to be sapped of stamina.
This was especially true now that he had released an aura that had burned through every blood vessel in his body.
A normal swordsman would have been dead or crippled by now.
Thump-thump-thump
From beyond my fading consciousness, I hear the howling of a beast.
"...If it's a pack of dogs, we're in trouble.
What other creature in the world would dare to approach this place when Madame Eight-Legged was exuding poisonous energy?" ... Vikir was not in a relaxed enough state to think about that.
Eventually.
Shuffle!
Vikir collapsed on top of Madame's corpse.
....
Sleep took an awful long time, or maybe just a moment.
In the darkness behind his eyelids, he recognizes many faces.
Many faces I'd left behind during my journey through the Age of Destruction, and those I'd met since my return.
Faces of Chihuahua, Sindhiwendi, Pomeranian, Aquila, Camus, Aiyen, Dolores, Barrymore, and others rise and fall to the surface without a sound.
Faces from Baskerville, faces from Underdog City, faces from the dephts, faces from Quovadis Street, faces from all over the place, one after the other, without any connection.
Among them were the faces of Hugo and Ahheman.
The moment.
"...!"
Vikir scrambled to his feet.
How many days, hours, minutes, or seconds had passed?
He sees a shadowy silhouette hovering over his still-warm body.
He waits for his vision to clear a little more, and then he feels a warm tongue licking his face.
It was Baqira, the wolf, peering into Vikir's face.
And next to it, he could see the face of his constant companion.
Aiyen.
She sat down next to Vikir, looking like she was about to burst into tears.
"Oh my God, Vikir! Are you awake! Can you see me? Hey! Ahun! Over here! Over here!"
" Vikir! You're alive! I'll get you some medicine right away!"
"Poison! Wash off the poison! Take him to the village!"
The world is silent, except for the slow twitching of Aiyen's mouth, his blurred vision, and the familiar faces gathering around him.
"...Is this a dream?
With that thought, Vikir blacked out completely.
Visit freewe𝑏(n)ovel.𝘤ℴ𝑚 for the best novel reading experience