Chapter 703
Ectoplasm flows upwards from below.
Something lurking within a person’s body, taking form.
Sticky tendrils resembling tentacles reach out.
Swoosh, swoosh.
With a small sound, like an eraser rubbing off doodles on a chalkboard, the tentacles move, brushing against the air. Droplets fall from its body, but they make no sound upon hitting the ground, dissolving into the air and breaking down, then rejoining the tentacles in a continuous loop.
As I quietly gaze upon that scene, I find my eyes drawn to the bizarre and otherworldly phenomenon. My eyelids are frozen open, forgetting even to blink, as I stare at the translucent body, like icicles frozen at the edge of a roof in the dead of winter, and the eyes within the tentacles.
Ah.
Eyes! Eyeballs!
I meet the gaze of those enchanting eyes.
Entranced by those eyes made of smoke and molded from ectoplasm.
As I look at them—look at them—
Ah.
The tentacles drew closer.
With a sound so strange it sent goosebumps up my arms, the tentacles cut through the air, approaching me. Those translucent tendrils containing eyeballs were soon at my neck, and then—
Bang—!
“H-Huuhhhh!”
The moment before the tentacles touched me, a gunshot rang out.
And as I surfaced, gasping for breath, like a person resurfacing from the water, I made a pained sound. My face turned pale as I realized I had almost been possessed by an evil spirit, its tendrils wrapping around my neck, almost inflicting unspeakable horrors upon me.
“D-Did I almost get possessed?”
Fragmented thoughts.
I can’t quite piece together what’s happening.
Despite knowing I’ve escaped the crisis, I feel a disconnect between instinct and reason, as if they’re no longer aligned.
Clench.
After being saved by the gunshot, I cursed my malfunctioning mind and gritted my teeth. Then, trusting my instincts more than my head, I moved my body.
As far away as possible.
Away from that evil spirit.
[Activating Protect. Salt Block Barrier Activated.]
Clank.
Boom—!
Was it waiting for this moment?
As I disappeared, the barrier began to descend.
A pure white wall, different from a standard fire wall meant to stop fire.
Constructed of metal framework, reinforced with blessed salt—a wall meant to halt evil spirits and malevolent ghosts, not fire and smoke.
Thus, the descending salt wall became a prison for the evil spirit.
[Holy Water Sprinklers Activating.]
Sizzzzz—
Then, the prison transformed into an execution ground.
From the ceiling’s sprinklers, blessed holy water, not regular water, began to spray, while water gushed out from what appeared to be broken water pipes on the floor.
Bang—!
Bang—!
Bang—!
Where the salt wall wasn’t, the pre-placed salt burst forth.
“GUAAAH—!”
Kyaaaah—!
The ghosts emerging from the man screamed in terror.
The holy water splattered upon them like hydrochloric acid, scorching them, while the bursting grains of salt pierced or wounded their bodies. The saltwater spewing from the floor restricted their movements, weakening them and making it difficult for them to even flee.
Furthermore, the effort put into this facility was evident.
The salt grains and holy water seemed never-ending.
Ultimately, the ghosts chose their only escape route.
“G-Guh! Grrrgh!”
The only safe zone in a space filled with danger.
Their comfortable nest.
The transportation that brought them here.
They began to re-enter the body of the warrior.
Yet.
“G-Grrgh!”
That was no easy feat either.
Those who had gone beforehand had taken measures to understand the spirits, but—
Sadly, that no longer applied.
The magic had already been used, and the door to mystery was opened.
The sanctuary where they could be gently stored was already destroyed.
While accomplishing their goal of releasing spirits upon the airport.
Thus, the ghosts could not safely settle into the man’s body.
“GUAAAH—!”
Kyaaaaah—!
If only there had been no trace left behind.
The magic, once used and vanished, left a mark on the man’s body, an obstacle blocking the spirits from entering easily.
It was like a glass house.
While it may have been a nice sanctuary when unbroken, after shattering, it became a mountain of sharp glass shards.
Kyaaaah—!
So they are torn apart.
The magic marks, filled with all sorts of energy, dared to shred any spirit that approached. It slices through, cutting the ghosts trying to penetrate further inside, and hinders the torn spirit’s recovery, forcing it to merge with other shredded spirits.
Thus, they are torn, destroyed, and patched up.
Like rags.
Only one patched-up soul remained in the man’s body.
“Ah.”
The last deployment left by Park Jinseong activates.
“Sweetness and joy! The expressions of good and evil!
What constitutes the sole value beyond the existing world is the inherent belief and a jewel originating from the unseen.
Let us return to the source of existence!”
“I thought of my inadequacies, yet I realized none exist.”
The warrior speaks with a twisted expression.
Following the motion of the parasite embedded in his tongue.
Making sounds through vibrations created by the parasite within his vocal cords.
“Let your will be done.”
What flows from his core is breath mixed with the smell of blood.
“I can be restored or destroyed.”
In ominous invocations lurk the stench of blood and rotting corpses.
“I am your vessel.”
The prayer of Ulrich Zwingli.
A short prayer murmured whilst steeped in helplessness after contracting the plague, hanging onto divine mercy.
A part of the prayer known as the Plague Seer spills from the man’s lips.
Bearing an aura of ominousness, entirely different from any regular prayer.
Twisted, warped, and decayed.
The prayer of the Vessel Bearer.
Thus, the vessel is formed.
A vessel filled with ectoplasm.
The ectoplasm, torn and patched, is cloudy; it resembles the dregs at the very bottom of a cauldron where evil things reside. It emanates an odor and stench of death, serving as a singularly alluring force, a pollutant simply through its existence.
How filthy must the vessel containing this pollution be?
Even if one were to dump its contents and wash it clean, the stench that refuses to disappear resides within!
The warrior.
The Vessel Bearer moves.
Boom—!
The first action he takes is a jump start.
Providing elasticity to his body, a preparatory motion to lend force to specific actions.
And with that jump, energy begins to circulate in his body.
This energy is strangely different from the existing Qi he has accumulated.
To put it simply, it’s a form of corrupted and twisted essence.
Forbidden techniques learned among warriors that yield similarly tainted energy.
One could call it turbid Qi.
Simply passing through the blood vessels would corrupt and threaten health.
This energy flows through his veins like poison.
Yet, despite its filth, it possesses usefulness.
Filth always wishes to spread its filth elsewhere.
Writhe.
The muscles quake.
His waist moves, twisting and turning.
The bent joints move with the force of rotation, cutting through the air.
The outstretched fist cleaves the void.
Bang—!
He delivers a heavy strike, full of muddied energy, against the salt wall.
Bang!
Bang!
He strikes with blows, gnawing at his own body.
With each hit against the salt wall, the murky energy within him surges and the solid salt wall inflicts wounds upon his fists.
Bang!
Bang!
Both the man’s body and the salt wall stain black.
His energy gnawing at the host is double-edged.
It indicates the man’s life is running dangerously low.
Bang!
Bang!
Yet even so, he continues to punch the salt wall.
As if to break through the hateful bars trapping him.
As if he must pass through this wall of salt towards the place where other people are.
Following the commands of the ragged spirit settled within him, the man acts.
Like a puppet programmed only to follow orders.
Bang!
Bang!
Is it possible that his efforts are finally rewarded?
At last, a hole breaks through the salt wall.
Though small, beyond the salt wall—the landscape of the airport begins to filter through.
The man smirks at this realization, raising his nearly crushed fist once more to widen the hole.
Bang—!
Silence falls with the sound of a gunshot from beyond the wall.
Writhe.
What an enormous bullet must that be?
Despite the echo of a single gunshot, nearly half of the man’s head was blown away.
Writhe.
Yet even still, the man’s body writhes.
Holding on to an unquenched desire to escape.
Writhe.
Though half his head is gone, he teeters but doesn’t collapse, his raised fist quivers like sending electric impulses rather than dropping down.
What bizarre persistence!
Bang—!
Bang—!
Yet that obstinacy was swallowed up by the subsequent gunfire.
Several bullets, crafted to pierce through tanks, pierce the man’s body, turning it into something akin to a ruffled rag.
No matter how strong the determination, what can be done when the very vessel holding that determination shatters?
Thus, the man fell completely silent.
Along with the ragged spirit within.
[Scanning.]
[Electromagnetic levels—rapidly declining.]
[Magnetic fields—normal.]
[Unable to detect spiritual interference.]
[Situation terminated.]
[The Vessel Bearer has been subdued.]
What remains is a salt wall with a hole blasted through it.
A section of the isolation zone turned into a battleground.
“Phew. That zombie was something else.”
Then came the sigh of a sniper, mixed with lament.
