Escaping from the memory, Geoffrey actually felt a bit excited.
"Bologue will get through it; only by regaining freedom can he keep going forward, whether it's for Adelle's revenge or to complete his own soul."
Geoffrey muttered.
"By any means necessary, no matter the cost."
In the distance, the "Cultivation Room" started up. The gray-white bricks began to move, blocking all entrances and exits to the building. Intricate patterns emitted a faint glow, flickering incessantly on the building's walls.
...
Bologue woke up leisurely from the sofa, rubbing his tired eyes with a slight headache. The room was dim.
He never had the habit of taking afternoon naps, because Bologue would often sleep through the entire afternoon, waking up to the desolate night... it's not a good feeling, waking up each time feeling as if he had been abandoned by the whole world.
Stretching lazily and letting out a big yawn, he barely managed to relax his body when suddenly he became alert, every muscle taut like a drawn bowstring.
Bologue smelled it, a scent of decay.
Evil, twisted, decayed, like piles of corpses soaking in stagnant water, corpse fluid and blood mixed together, swarming with flies and mosquitoes that buzz annoyingly.
The smell was so bad, yet under Bologue's scent, it seemed extremely delicious. Just by inhaling such an aroma, his faint excitement surged, his blood burning alongside it.
Demon.
This is the scent of a demon.
"The soul is our most precious 'source.' Any changes to the soul will reflect on the body. People missing a soul will appear sickly, and those completely devoid of a soul, that is, demons, their bodies will become empty shells, ceaselessly decaying, like living corpses. Only by devouring souls can they halt their body's decay and satisfy their inner hunger.
So, many times, you can discern the presence of a demon through their scent."
Geoffrey's words echoed beside his ears, something he had taught Bologue. Since then, Bologue had become sensitive to odors, whether they were fragrant or foul.
Demon would temporarily quench their hollow hunger by devouring souls, thereby suppressing the outbreak of bulimia nervosa. Yet there would still be a faint scent of decay clinging to them, which they cover up with large amounts of perfume.
"A demon?"
Bologue murmured, picking up the unfolded folding knife, his gaze alert.
He didn't know why a demon would appear here, but he understood that apart from Bologue, everyone else in the building was ordinary people, powerless to resist the demon. They would be killed, devoured.
Even though his neighbors were quite annoying, they didn't deserve to become the demon's fodder.
"Does this make me the Savior?"
Bologue mumbled to himself.
Opening the wardrobe was like some kind of peculiar ritual. Bologue donned a white shirt, tied a necktie, and tidied his appearance in front of the mirror, looking like he was going out for work.
Yes, it was indeed work, but to be precise... it's overtime.
Pulling open the wardrobe drawer, it was filled with cold folding knives. Bologue favored these weapons; they were lethal, easily stored, and most importantly, didn't create much noise.
He picked up several folding knives, slotting them into the tactical harness under his shirt, one by one, then grabbed a black coat that tucked all these deadly blades away.
Walking towards the door, the scent of decay leaking from the doorway.
There wasn't any fear on his face; rather, Bologue was somewhat delighted.
Others might fear demons, but for Bologue, demons represent fragments of the soul, a chance to complete the soul, and the possibility to suppress bulimia nervosa.
More importantly, it allows for justified venting.
Leaving the bedroom and passing through the living room, he casually picked up a record and placed it on the record player, the black record slowly spinning, producing a scratching sound.
Pushing open the door, the corridor lights flickered on and off, something he had complained about to the building supervisor many times. However, the man only cared about the rent, never thinking about repairs.
The usual clamor was gone; the corridors were eerily silent, with the walls yellowed and plastered with random ads, as if, for a moment, Bologue was the only person left in the building.
In the old building, the folding knife scraped against the wall, creating a piercing noise.
Bologue looked toward his neighbors' doors, only to see the "doors" had vanished, replaced by gray-white cement walls. Not only his neighbors but all doors except Bologue's room were blocked, even the windows.
The entire building sealed shut, turned into a cage.
"A Killing Array targeting only me?"
Not knowing how the "demon" did all this, but Bologue wasn't nervous about it; instead, he breathed a sigh of relief, indicating he doesn't have to expend energy on looking after the neighbors.
Having witnessed all sorts of extraordinary events, Bologue quickly accepted the current situation.
After all, demons and souls are real; what remains impossible?
The deathly silence and stench, eerie chill surged inside the closed building, but just then, the sound of a low bass abruptly echoed from Bologue's room, soon followed by undulating drums and gradually fervent guitar sound.
The scorching rock music played.
When Bologue first arrived at this world, he was extremely miserable; entertainment was scarce and "primitive," technology wasn't overly backward, but recalling his past life, it was far lacking.
Having experienced luxury, returning to frugality was hard; Bologue's mood was likely like this then; fortunate amidst misfortune, there were still things in this world that piqued Bologue's interest.
Such as rock music.
"Evil follows you around like a shadow! Evil shares your bed! Evil calls forth your desires!"
Inside the record player, the lead singer sang with a hoarse voice, exerting full effort.
Bologue hummed the same tune, gripped the chilly folded knife like a night-stalking Death God.