Bobota was still chattering away to himself, utterly immersed in his own world. He had not even noticed that, beneath the blazing sun, cracks had begun appearing across his skin. At the same time, large amounts of foul liquid mixed with thick green pus and sweat continuously dripped down, only to be evaporated by the scorching sand. The air was filled with the stench of rot.
Five minutes later, Bobota finally stopped talking. That was because he saw the cracked skin covering his body, as well as his flesh evaporating away.
"Did I really not notice all this? Have I lost my sense of smell and pain? Am I already close to collapsing?"
An incomparably complicated emotion flashed through Bobota's eyes—stunned disbelief, fear, and terror.
Even though he had imagined his own death countless times and had prepared himself for it, when this moment truly arrived, he still felt dread and fear.
For some, death was not an end, but another kind of freedom, symbolizing the breaking of their shackles. But for Bobota, death meant that his soul would be imprisoned by the Demon God forever. How could he not be afraid at the thought of sinking into eternal damnation?
Bobota had even considered annihilating his soul completely, but he did not have the courage. Moreover, bound by the Demon God Contract, he lacked the power to do so.
All he could do now was watch helplessly as the flesh on his body evaporated, until he finally walked toward extinction.
Death was already inevitable. After enduring a long stretch of dread, Bobota finally resigned himself to fate. Regret and guilt filled his eyes, but in the end, they all turned into helplessness and acceptance.
When he felt his body growing weaker and weaker, so weak that he no longer had