The Door and the Bolt

Hound Bar, basement level.

The rough gray walls flowed like viscous liquid, with faint outlines of blood vessels emerging on the ceiling, pulsing slowly and gradually staining the stone floor a pale, fleshy hue. In the corners where the shadows were nearly solid, grotesque silhouettes flickered in and out of existence, writhing as if about to crawl out...

Even the stagnant air was permeated with a stench like a midsummer seafood market, causing a numbing itch in Horn's lungs that forced him to clutch his chest and cough aloud.

--Is this what "Boundary-fication" is?

From within a pool of demonic essence, a gaunt, withered arm reached out from the bottom of the nearly dried-up Blood Pool, extending, then grasping.

Spanning a vast distance, it reached into the ruined upper warehouse, snatched the massive, twitching corpse of the Blood-Thirsty Hound into its narrow palm, defying the laws of biomechanics and leverage, and dragged it down with irresistible force.

The ceiling, which had already begun to transform into biomass, tactfully parted to the sides. The remains of "Belloc," now devoid of support, fell into the Blood Pool with a "plop," yet failed to stir even a single ripple.

With eight twisted, alienated fingertips, it raked across the corpse of the Blood-Thirsty Hound, casually picking up a piece of shattered bone. In the center of the loose-skinned, wrinkled palm, a large mouth filled with chaotic, jagged teeth struggled and tore itself open, swallowing the remnants of "Belloc."

"Crunch, crunch."

The teeth-grinding sound of chewing echoed. Cold sweat dripped down his temples, and though Horn wanted to cry, he could neither turn to flee nor even cover his mouth and nose.

Because an eye was staring directly at his shadow.

Structures resembling fungal mats grew from the stone floor, firmly pinning the edges of his shadow to the ground, leaving Horn's body unable to move. A chill continued to seep inward incessantly.

On the light screen before his eyes, bright red warnings popped up, only to be covered by new ones, eventually overlapping into a single, massive [DANGER] character.

After taking a small taste of Belloc, the large mouth in the palm moved, offering a fair assessment in a nauseating, raspy voice.

"Ruthless enough, but lacking in greed. Your aptitude on the path of [Blood] is barely passable, and your accumulation of the principles of [Blade] is just so-so."

"Given time and sufficient resources, you might accomplish something, but that is as far as it goes. To practice the Heavenly Mandate, solve the riddles, and reach the seat of [Omniscience]—difficult, far too difficult."

"However—"

"I originally came to see who had disrupted my ritual site, but I didn't expect such an unexpected harvest."

Countless dense eyes shifted in unison, bringing an oppressive weight that would have sent a trypophobe to their grave on the spot. They reflected Horn's face, blinking with a surprise that felt almost tangible.

Already, it was salivating.

Horn never expected that the day he would truly see the description "eyes dripping with water" would be on something that he couldn't even tell was human or monster.

From the very beginning until now, every monster he met wanted to take a bite out of him to see how he tasted. He had finally slogged his way to the grand finale; in a movie, this would be like the hero using the best sword in the village, shouting about friendship and bonds, finally defeating the Devil King and rescuing the princess.

Then, upon stepping out of the palace, he sees Godzilla's giant head waiting outside, its massive mouth curled into a shy smile, puffing hot breath at the hero.

"Little brother, I've been waiting for you for a long time. Finally out, shall we go another round?"

Anyone would feel their vision go black at that.

If that were all, it would be one thing, but as a final boss, the second sentence out of its mouth made him lose his composure.

Sun above, so you're a pervert too!

Look at Jim Belloc; he was a straightforward man in life and a straightforward dog in death. He killed when he had to and ate when he had to, never hesitating. He lived a pathetic life, but he died with flair.

How did it turn into this lovesick, eye-dripping style when it got to you?

Something is wrong with you!

An overwhelming sense of impending doom surged from the depths of his heart, forcing Horn to involuntarily clench his gluteal muscles, his face turning pale.

Others covet my body, but are you coveting my rear?

I don't want that!

"Pure blood of Lancaster, Path of Sunset—"

The large mouth opened and closed, actually vibrating the air and emitting a cackling, monstrous laugh. The withered arm reached out toward Horn, full of menacing intent!

In his desperation, Horn could only open the only mouth on his body that could still move, urgently trying to clear his name:

"Big brother, don't! I really don't like someone as old as you—"

And so, the outstretched, withered arm hung in mid-air, coming to an abrupt halt.

Wait, you're actually listening?

Staring ahead, Horn blinked in confusion, realizing it a beat too late.

No, it wasn't obedience. It was that some threshold had been opened, right here, right now...

Far earlier and more clearly than Horn, the dense eyes in the Blood Pool had all snapped open, their scarlet light flickering frantically as if facing a formidable enemy.

The sharp, outstretched fingertips were aimed directly at the center of Horn's brow, just a hair's breadth away from true contact—ready to pry open his skull like an eggshell and feast on his brains and gray matter.

Regrettably, this step was like a chasm; though it was within reach, it could not be crossed.

Because God said:

Thus far you shall come, but no farther.

The arrogant waves must stop here!

Beneath Horn's feet, the edges of his blurred shadow suddenly became sharp, cleanly severing the boundary between him and the fungal mat. The invisible shackles were suddenly undone, leaving Horn's body feeling light, yet he dared not flee immediately.

Because pale purple, sharp thorns were growing along the edges of Horn's shadow, the fragrance of orchids drifted inexplicably, and a sound like shattering glass rang out, one after another.

"Ping, ping, ping, ping!"

Inside the lower warehouse, cut off from the outside by the Wall of Boundary, a door was violently chiseled open, followed by another, and then another!

Amidst tremors that grew stronger with each passing moment, even more intense than the previous explosion, the crowd still lingering in the Hound Bar screamed as they rushed out. Yet, not a single person dared to approach within two meters of the young girl, as if an invisible wall stood around her, causing people to subconsciously steer clear.

Leaning against the damaged door frame beneath the sign of the Hound Bar, the blonde girl wore a look of mockery. Beneath her sunglasses, the purple glow in her eyes rippled like water, gradually intensifying.

"Finally, getting desperate?"

Raising her hand, Veronica instinctively reached for her waist, but stopped at the last moment, instead clenching her five fingers into a delicate fist and swinging it downward with force.

And so, through layers of floorboards and the Wall of Boundary, thorns grew and spread, rushing out like arrows. They trembled in the air, splitting themselves—one into two, two into four, four into eight...

Until they fell in a torrential downpour, like a storm of pale purple!

BOOM!

Crossing the distance of space in an instant, the Rain of Thorns easily tore through the crimson, hastily erected defenses, pressing forward without hesitation!

It did not aim for the arm that could be discarded at any moment, but struck directly at the true source of power. The pale purple downpour shattered the countless blinking eyes, and even the emblem of the Cup of Insatiable cracked, on the verge of breaking apart.

A heavy blow!

Yet, at the bottom of the Blood Pool, a newly emerged eye revealed a look of relief.

"It's fortunate that not much power was transmitted over; I can withdraw in time."

"Birmingham isn't even an important location, so how could an Apostle emerge here without a sound? Has the Prevention and Suppression Bureau intervened?"

"Fortunately, the preparations are basically complete. As long as I find the catalyst and advance the ritual to complete the final step..."

"Then, immortality will be within reach!"

The eye rolled once, then contracted on the spot, retreating along the channels laid out by the blood system, retreating, retreating...

"What is going on?!"

The once-smooth conduits now felt as if someone had installed a tightly shut valve, making it impossible for the power to return!

Imprisoned in place, the eyeball was stuck on the boundary between escaping and not escaping, unable to move.

This was because the girl had loosened her clenched fist, as if holding an invisible Key, and turned it gently.

"Click."

A crisp sound of a lock mechanism echoed; the temporarily constructed boundary had changed hands in an instant. The Blood Pool, serving as the hub of power, was firmly gripped by a single will, not allowing a single shred of power to escape.

--Set boundaries for him, and establish doors and bars!