Ferguson stood near the Shadow Gate and watched Brow's death; Bologue used his own severed limb as bait to make Brow lower his guard, then struck from the darkness.

Bologue had already noticed the unusualness of the two; endless pain would only bring them strength. For this reason, Bologue swiftly and decisively killed Brow, leaving no chance.

Brow's head fell into a pool of blood, a satisfied smile on his face. Ferguson wasn't surprised by that expression; he had seen such a smile too many times.

Protection is a curse, only the price has not been paid yet.

Such as the Protection·Bloodthirsty Healing of the Crimson Sect, with this protection, a Contractor can rely on devouring flesh to gain powerful self-healing abilities and even maintain themselves in a state of an Undying Body. But the more they consume, the hungrier they become, until they are completely controlled by appetite and turn into ravenous monsters.

The Collector's protection is the same, in the decay of pain and pleasure, losing all emotions, no longer with any fluctuations, leaving only a numb heart inside.

For a little bit of pleasure, undergoing inhuman self-mutilation, but this is just a pointless struggle, unable to escape from the mire of emptiness, falling into madness.

The few emotions Ferguson had told him that Brow was his friend. Not witnessing his friend fall into madness but meet a peaceful death, Ferguson felt a moment of tranquility in his heart, which then transformed into Ether.

All emotions will be devoured; pain is merely the easiest to achieve.

Ferguson felt somewhat sad, thinking that his heart had grown a bit colder, and then the sadness vanished, leaving only a numb mind.

After killing Brow, Bologue didn't pause for a moment. After Brow's death, the Shadow Gate he created collapsed rapidly, and this was Bologue's only chance to catch Ferguson.

This vast Opus was too suitable for hiding; as long as Ferguson wanted to avoid Bologue, relying on his own Ethereal Concealment, Bologue had no chance of tracking him.

The Phantom Dagger had been displaced a hundred meters away, and Bologue couldn't use it anymore. A Hand Axe was thrown, pierced through the Shadow Gate, and struck in front of Ferguson.

Ferguson watched Bologue expressionlessly, raising his Silent Fang coldly. The Shadow Gate collapsed down to a small piece, and this interconnected area would be their duel passage.

He pulled the trigger, an Anesthetic Bullet traversed the Shadow Gate, Bologue swung another Hand Axe, cleaved the Anesthetic Bullet, approached the Shadow Gate, and lunged toward Ferguson.

The Shadow Gate collapsed and closed, severing the connection between the two spaces. Warm blood splattered onto Ferguson, spreading to his feet.

Ferguson lowered his head, unable to understand his emotions at this moment.

Fear of facing a formidable enemy? Joy of witnessing a strong contender? Or the anger of avenging a friend?

Ferguson didn't need to understand. Anyway, all these emotions would be devoured, no need to think too much. Just hysteria, join in the wild party.

"So nice! Mr. Lazarus!"

Ferguson shouted, the six Blades floating beside him began to dance, stirring up a whistling wind.

Bologue relied on his remaining arm to prop himself up, barely raising his body. On his face covered with dirty blood, he showed a crazed smile similar to Ferguson's.

Just before the Shadow Gate closed, Bologue passed through it, unsurprisingly, the closing passage severed him at the waist.

It was as if a giant Blade slashed down from Bologue's shoulder, his entire left shoulder vanished, the arm broke off, and along with the body below the belly, stayed on the other side of the Shadow Gate, innards mixed with dirty blood scattered everywhere.

Blessing·Time Reversing Axis.

Bones were built out of nowhere, muscles hung over the dense bones, tendons and blood vessels intertwined, blood flowed back down into the shell.

Six Blades crisscrossed and chopped towards Bologue, the Flame of the Cauldron sprang up, the ground raised high walls, blocking the Blades' assault.

Ferguson didn't stay to fight; now he was very aware that he had no strength to defeat Bologue. Even though Bologue was injured like this, he was the Undead, such injuries were meaningless to Bologue, and Bologue's Secret Energy was that bizarre, flame-commanding material; the loss of limbs did not affect his combat.

Silent Fang charged, he pulled the trigger, an Alchemy Warhead shot powerfully, detonating a series of Ethereal Shocks.

In the dazzling explosions, Ferguson leapt down from the rooftop. This battle lasted too long and triggered too many anomalies. Ferguson estimated that the Order Bureau must have discovered these sudden Ether reactions by now, and patrolling Field Staff might be on their way.

Silent Fang reverted to its normal form, shrinking overall; Ferguson hid it under his coat, unable to dissipate the blood on him, but there was no choice. Ferguson approached the crowd on the street, trying to blend in.

With Bologue's current state, he still needed some time to move freely, and Ferguson needed to use this opportunity to escape the city.

Indeed, the Collector's promise wasn't so easily fulfilled; after all, she was the Devil, the source of all these tragedies.

Ferguson passed through streets and alleys, walking into the subway station. The crowd was noisily celebrating something, and someone held a sheaf of posters, promoting them everywhere.

"Blue Crow's new book preorder!"

Someone shouted. Behind him on the billboard was a mysterious black human silhouette, with the name Blue Crow beneath. On the other side were various promotional phrases, but Ferguson didn't look closely.

He glanced briefly, noticing the term "Night Hunter." Ferguson felt like he'd heard of this book before but couldn't quite remember.

Ferguson hadn't read a book in a long time; the Collector's protection stripped him of all emotions. The joy that books and movies brought had long been worn away over the years.

At the moment, Ferguson's heart was very calm, terrifyingly calm. Clearly, Brow had died before his eyes just minutes ago, but he felt no sorrow, as if the one who died was someone irrelevant.

Ferguson hated himself like this, but he couldn't even manage hate; the void beast would devour all emotions.

After boarding the subway, Ferguson found an empty seat to sit in. The carriage gradually became crowded, and the bloody smell on Ferguson intensified; some passengers covered their noses, others cast wary glances at him.

Ferguson could hear their whispers. They began to suspect something was wrong with him, and someone was preparing to contact the Sheriff at the next stop.

It didn't matter; Ferguson didn't care about these things. Blood dripped from his sleeve, and passengers looked at him fearfully.

Ferguson just lowered his head, thinking about random things.

For some reason, Ferguson could see Brow's face, the smiling face when he died.

Brow should be happy, finally dying and freeing himself from the cage of emptiness.

Yes, death was a release for someone like Ferguson, but he didn't dare die, just like those madly numb ones.

Ferguson always thought the numb ones weren't truly mad; under the torture of emptiness, they lost all qualifications of being human, but only retained the human fear of death.

The way to break this cycle of decay was simple, just dying would do. Everyone knew this principle, but no one dared to do it.

Every Contractor dared to treat themselves with the most brutal means to exchange for pleasure and power, yet no one dared face death.

Ferguson felt people weren't afraid of death, but rather, everyone was filled with a desire for eternal life.

Yes, as biological creatures, as humans, the most primitive and strongest desire.

Survival.

The subway reached the next station, and most of the passengers fled, leaving a few who didn't know what had happened.

The fire alarm rang within the subway station, urging people. The passengers walked off the carriage confused, and then an explosion sounded in the subway station, fire burst forth, and the crowd fled in terror from the station.

As the doors were about to close, the last passenger stepped up. He wore lightweight Scale Armor, carried a fire axe, rocked on his feet, hummed a song, and glanced around, searching the deserted carriage.

Ferguson raised his head, Bologue wiped the blood off his face, smiling as he looked at him.

The subway moved, rushing into the darkness of the tunnel.

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