Chapter 19 Beelzebub’s Magical : The Ninth Stomach
Elbert's body wasn't instantly torn apart—instead, it was opened, dissected by something older than hunger itself. The magic of Beelzebub: The Ninth Stomach worked gradually, tormenting him with a rhythm akin to a long, unbroken prayer from hell. His flesh wasn't merely torn, but slowly ground down, akin to invisible tongues licking from the inside out, creating a painful sensation that dulled his sanity and deepened the madness lurking in his mind.
A billion tiny, glimmering black insects swarmed Elbert with an unexpected ferocity, forming a moving cloud that engulfed his skin. Their buzzing filled the air, as if singing an inevitable death song, while their sharp pincers clawed and gripped his flesh, creeping with an insatiable hunger, orchestrating a symphony of suffering that mocked any remaining hope.
"This... this is just an illusion, a deception peeling away from reality. This magic can be broken; I just need time to find a crack in this blinding darkness."
His shoulder blades melted, not exploded. Like toxic honey oozing from cartilage. His muscles did not tear, but unraveled into strands like intestinal threads, pulled one by one by an undefinable force that could not be explained by human logic, creating a chilling atmosphere that contrasted with the lingering hope within him, as if that hope was trapped in a snare of unexpected cruelty.
"I am Elbert... Lord Elbert. How could a lowly creature like this dare to touch me?"
"I have skinned traitors alive. I know how painful that feels. Yet... this... this means nothing, right?"
From his right eye, his brain began to leak—not from pressure, but because reality itself could no longer contain his existence. Small holes resembling mysterious gaps formed in his face, not like gaping wounds, but like entryways for something unseen. Something hungry, lurking in silence. Something patient, waiting for the right moment to claim a part of him.
"What is this... is this a punishment from the Gods? It can't be. Here, there are no gods to hear my cries."
"Please, anyone... Fitran... just kill me. End all of this!"
His stomach swelled before finally bursting in silence. No blood flowed; only thick black liquid emitted a pungent aroma reminiscent of human refuse—a stench that hinted at chaos and profound emptiness. The contents of his body did not explode dramatically but rather seeped out like a fine, mysterious mist—thin and elusive, evaporating before disappearing into the air. Within this vapor, his soul burned slowly, trapped in a painful and unbroken cycle, as if ensnared between unseen dimensions.
"It feels like... this world is swallowing my thoughts, creating chaos within my mind. The voices buzz around, an eerie melody intertwining with the silence. They sing, loud and soft, as if calling me from the darkness that envelops."