Bologue suddenly began talking about something else, his voice very soft, as if he were recounting an unspeakable secret.
"Some people in the trade offer their entire soul to the Devil, and henceforth a constantly collapsing void appears within them—the place where the soul used to be.
The void is like a vortex devouring everything, slowly eroding the human mind.
In the unbearable pain, they become increasingly mad and hungry, until they devour others' souls to fill the void within them, temporarily alleviating that torturous hunger."
It was not clear when, but the confessional had fallen completely silent, with only Bologue's voice narrating, and nothing else.
"Condensation is a means of coagulating the soul, solidifying the intangible soul into a tangible entity to interfere, much like the so-called Philosopher's Stone or Elixir of Immortality… This is not a robbery case, but a soul-plundering murder case, an extraordinary crime."
Bologue's voice began to tremble, not with fear, but with excitement, the excitement of violence.
"I found gang members wandering in that area, pulled out their teeth, smashed their bones, severed their fingers one by one… It was truly exhausting work, but fortunately, I got a name, and following that name, I found another guy.
He was an Alchemist, selling all kinds of illegal drugs on the black market. I tortured him, interrogated him, and then got the next name.
Thugs, bosses, smugglers, bribed sheriffs…
One after another, one after another…"
Accompanying Bologue's account was the clear sound of a clock's ticking. After each syllable dissipated, the clock would tick with a small, advancing sound.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, ticking faster and faster, as if plunging into a black whirlpool, where people wailed helplessly, being dragged in, engulfed, into darkness.
Pressure grew in the Priest's heart, cold sweat beading his forehead.
Until, at a certain moment, Bologue finally stopped, casually smiled, and ended this mad narrative.
"Enough, no need for details. It's a rather monotonous, mechanical job. I finally got a list from a dead man's hands."
Bologue's gaze slowly shifted, looking to the other side of the black veil.
"Father, do you know Adelle Dovlan?"
There was no sound from behind the black veil, only low, faint noises like the crack of a glacier or the stirring of a sprout breaking through the soil.
Bologue waited patiently. For some reason, the church always had an extremely strong incense scent, even in the confessional, but soon he detected a trace of an acrid scent in the incense.
A sharp scream arose.
Sharp bone claws pierced through flesh, like bloodstained daggers, tearing apart the partitioning black veil, slashing across Bologue's face, embedding into the wooden board behind.
Bologue turned his head toward the Priest's direction, a thin red line extending along his cheek, followed by blood flowing from it.
The putrid stench of blood permeated, like some exciting potion, as spasms of breath hit him.
Bologue, indifferent, watched the Priest—or rather, the Demon—expressionlessly.
"You shouldn't have come here."
Darkness enveloped the Priest's body, emitting a distorted sound from his throat.
The Priest could smell the scent of the soul—a sweet, intoxicating, and maddening scent that, just by its aroma, could significantly alleviate the hunger from the void within his heart.
But after alleviation came an even greater longing.
"A demon cannot become a Priest."
Bologue said coldly.
The Priest did not respond, instead letting out a hoarse, bizarre laugh.
It was not worried about the secret being leaked, as long as it killed Bologue.
Consume Bologue's soul, then tear the flesh into pieces and throw it into the gray fog of the Great Rift… as always.
"Father Doron, why does your name appear on that list?"
Bologue raised his head and saw the Priest's hideous face, his features completely twisted, devoid of any sign of kindness. He was like a beast pouncing on its prey, his breathing heavy and intense, eyes bloodshot and red.
"Is that so? What a pity."
Bologue said so.
The claws struck again, accompanied by a metallic clashing sound, and in the narrow darkness, Doron felt a sharp pain originating from his chest before his body was pulled, uncontrollably hurtling out of the confessional.
He knocked over the burning candelabrum, hot wax and flames entangled his body, setting his clothing ablaze, fires raging, roars resounding, with Doron like a beast bathing in fire.
In the dim confessional, Bologue strode out slowly, holding a metal staff bearing the marks left by claw strikes. He forcefully swung the staff, and with a few crisp sounds, the metal staff extended segment by segment until a deadly blade slid out, reflecting the burning candle flame.
The sharp folding knife was held in his hand.
"There are also some who, in their dealings with the Devil, haven't lost their entire soul and have received the Devil's 'Blessing.'"
Bologue said, touching his chest over his heart with one hand.
"The boss said that these people have lost a part of their soul, leaving it incomplete with a missing corner, exposing part of the void. So at times, they are also tormented by hunger, compelled to reclaim their lost soul and fill the gap. But they remain rational, unlike you, unlike the Demon, insatiable."