"Even if according to your logic, the big city is a man-eating beast. If you want to prevent people from being devoured by the Beast, you should pull out the Beast's teeth - you should go to those office buildings and eliminate the company bosses who create the homeless, rather than deceive yourself by trapping the already impoverished fellow villagers in primitive tribes without modern facilities using those deranged doctrines."
"If you could truly make the entire town rich, ensure that every person eats the finest food and has the warmest shelter, outclassing those homeless by hundreds of times, perhaps I could partially agree with your viewpoint that 'the big city is indeed not good enough.'
"However, you are an all-round fool. You couldn't save the circus, couldn't restore the town's reputation, couldn't attract more tourists, allowing people to have higher income."
"Assuming you truly had the ability to accomplish all this, enabling people to earn money right at their doorstep, living the most prosperous life, you'd have no need to dabble in Heresy; they would stay and build their hometown rather than move to the big city to work."
"Unfortunately, you lack such talents. That's why you can only resort to Heresy, relying on deception and brainwashing, even resorting to violent coercion, forcing people to stay here for so-called stable living."
"In fact, deep down you know that without such means, no one would truly adore or respect you from their heart. All their praise for you is false, built upon coercion. Because you feel this is inadequate, you desire to establish your utopia in the Psychic_Battlefield."
"You've altered everyone's minds, causing them to like you genuinely. But you also understand it's all still false; the more they seem to genuinely regard you as a God, the emptier your heart becomes. This daily number of praises didn't satisfy you, but rather made you increasingly unable to bear that lifestyle. You long for something real, even if only partly, so you became a councilor here."
"In the end, you surrendered to the big city, to the upper class. You became the Fang in the Beast's mouth. But was the process truly as humiliating as you imagined? Weren't the moments of shame and remorse during midnight whispers made up by you to numb yourself?"
"Admit it, Berg. From beginning to end, you've been just like the group you claim to hate. You're not compassionate or sympathetic to the weak; you always indulge in desires, committing bad deeds completely, then find ways to cover them up with a fig leaf, repeatedly finding excuses for yourself until you believe them."
"Your seemingly logical reasoning cannot deceive anyone. This is why you achieve nothing in the real world and cannot stand life in the utopia. After going in circles, you end up living a joke."
"I've said enough!!!"
Marlos, or rather Old Berg, let out a roar. Black smoke began emerging from his eyes, faintly transforming into another person.
Kent still chose not to shoot, cautiously stepping back a few steps. As expected, a black smoke rushed towards him. He suddenly lunged onto the sofa, dodging the attack, but was immediately dragged up by the black smoke and smashed onto the floor.
"Ugh!" Kent let out a painful grunt, but did not give up resisting, rolling on the ground and hiding behind the sofa, shooting towards Old Berg's location.
Bang!
The bullet hit, but only pushed him back a step. Blood flowed from his body, yet it didn't hinder the Evil spirit's movements. He swung black smoke, grabbing Kent and squeezing his neck, his twisted face exerting force, seemingly trying to choke him to death.
Kent struggled desperately, but his ordinary Strength was too insignificant in the face of the Evil spirit's power.
Just as he felt the lack of oxygen, he suddenly felt a stabbing pain in his heart, something crawling up his arm from his chest. It moved quickly, then a shadow darted out from his arm and bit into the black smoke.
"Ahhhhhhh!!!!"
The Evil spirit suddenly let out a scream. The black smoke retracted, and Kent fell to the ground. He fired two more shots, knocking the Evil spirit down, then pounced, pinning him to the ground and started pounding.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Punch after punch, black smoke emerged from the opponent's mouth and nose again. He let out an extremely sharp scream, momentarily paralyzing Kent, his entire body numb.
He staggered and fell to the side, feeling his limbs were weak and unable to move, his head splitting with pain. The Evil spirit rose from the ground, picked up the gun and aimed at Kent.
In a daze, Kent saw countless Souls clinging to Old Berg's body: some were choking him with their arms, others biting with teeth. They continuously engulfed the black fog.
Bang!
As the bullet reached the muzzle, a small baby Soul bit the Evil spirit's finger, causing him to jerk his hand in pain. The bullet veered off, but still hit Kent's thigh, making him scream.
Yet the pain seemed to stimulate him, triggering adrenal purely unused by the body. He sprang up from the ground, tackling the Evil spirit again, snatching the gun from him and slamming it onto his skull.
Logically, with his size, using full force to slam someone's head, a few hits would shatter it. But firstly, this position was inefficient; secondly, Kent was also in poor shape. He hit a few times, indeed smashing the opponent's head into a bloody mess, but couldn't deliver a fatal blow.
He struggled to keep his eyes wide open, seeing those souls still working hard to devour the black mist. He simply stopped smashing, directly hugged the evil spirit's body so he couldn't escape, allowing those souls to devour him faster.
Yet the evil spirit was not easy to deal with. Realizing his body had become a restraint, he let out another scream and burst out directly from his body. Although the souls were still entangled with him relentlessly, Kent was no longer a threat to him because Kent couldn't touch the ghosts.
Kent was anxious and angry because he had realized that the souls he brought out seemed not to be a match for the evil spirit. His opponent had practiced black magic for who knows how many years, and upon restoring his spiritual body, those black mists instead began to devour the souls, and the soul power would make him even stronger.
Kent took a deep breath. At this moment, a flash of inspiration came to him: since this guy practiced black magic, there must be black magic tools in his house in Siv City. He thought of Aunt Cain's home's structure, and Old Berg's tools room was in his garage. And when he came in, he saw a car parked in the yard outside the door, proving that the garage of this house might also have been converted into a tools room.
Thinking of this, Kent did not delay any longer and dragged his injured leg towards the garage. The adrenaline helped a lot, and he almost forgot the pain, rushing into the garage as if flying.
But the garage did not have the things he imagined. Kent immediately responded: the opponent is a politician, the house might welcome many guests, storing black magic research items in the garage still posed too much risk. If not the garage, then it might be the cellar.
Previously when a politician invited him into the house, he had taken a tour; he remembered that this community's houses had basements, with the entrance in the backyard. So, he staggered from the garage's back door out, rushed to the cellar door.
The evil spirit seemed to realize what he was up to, screaming and chasing out. Kent exhausted his last bit of strength and jumped down into the cellar, indeed finding a heap of sinister black magic tools inside.
He didn't even know what these were for, grabbed them all impulsively, and started throwing them at the evil spirit overhead. The rule of mutual repulsion among black magic tools seemingly hadn't changed; the things Kent threw hitting the evil spirit indeed made him let out a scream. The evil spirit hurriedly retreated.
Finding it useful, Kent shouted, "If you dare come in, I'll crash you to death with these things!"
The evil spirit seemed quite intimidated by this approach, hesitating several times whether to come down or not. Kent also knew hiding there wouldn't work, so he shouted upwards, "Pull him away so I can get out!"
The ghosts heard his words, vigorously entangled the evil spirit, pulling him away somewhat. Kent took the opportunity to step onto the ladder with one leg, grabbed the cellar edge with both arms, and with a mighty upward movement, successfully flipped out.
He took those things out from his arms, began throwing them one by one at the evil spirit. However, the outside area was too vast, and the evil spirit moved swiftly, many were dodged by him, though he dared not touch even those fallen to the ground, this limited his maneuvering, even forcing him to turn and run toward the front yard.
Kent threw out almost all the things, retaining only a bone knife. He thought that if he could cut the evil spirit, he surely could inflict damage, so he dragged his injured leg in pursuit.
During the chase, Kent saw a figure flashing outside the yard; his heart sank: Could it be the police?
Although he dealt with the sheriff, the district patrol police were not so certain. He had fired several shots; neighbors probably called the police.
The evil spirit ran back into the house. Kent approached holding the bone knife but at this moment, the evil spirit reversed his attack, roaring fiercely, shaking off all souls upon him, and dashed straight at Kent's face.
He wanted to possess! Kent immediately realized. So he waved the bone knife wildly, the evil spirit indeed couldn't enter his shell but directly knocked him to the ground. With his back of the head hitting the ground, Kent immediately felt a severe dizziness, and the bone knife fell from his hand.
At this moment, he felt a repelling sensation, as if his body wanted to cast him out. Kent gritted his teeth, stubbornly refusing to go out. He spasmed, meanwhile felt the bone knife aside, tremblingly raised the knife with his hand, stabbing towards his own chest.
Both the evil spirit and Kent let out a scream. The evil spirit seemed not to anticipate Kent being this ruthless, failing to squeeze out is one thing, now wanting mutually assured destruction. He hurriedly escaped from Kent's body.
But as soon as he went out, the cluster of souls entangled again. Kent doggedly climbed up despite intense dizziness and injuries, bent on stabbing the evil spirit with that bone knife.
The evil spirit didn't fear physical attack, but this bone knife was a black magic item; stabbed once, it wouldn't be fatal but at least crippling. No choice, he picked Marlos' body—possession mitigates some damage with the flesh.
With a 'phut' sound, the bone knife still stabbed into Marlos' body. The evil spirit let out a scream but didn't die. Yet Kent had exhausted all his strength, completely collapsed.
He lay on the ground, looking up at the ceiling, panting. Too much blood flowed from his thigh and chest, vision beginning to blur. He hadn't expected this evil spirit would be so difficult to deal with: guns, souls, black magic tools, still can't end him.
The evil spirit, evidently pleased with this outcome. Marlos' demeanor turned particularly somber, declaring: "Ultimately I am the winner. I am correct!"
Kent's pupils had already scattered. In his final vision, he saw a streak as red as blood, appearing behind Marlos.
The awkward yet straightforward girl lifted the harpoon entwined with another woman's soul. The Flying Angel Satean as when alive, soared high with the harpoon, then plunged down, piercing into the evil spirit's heart.
"Phut!"