Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1385 Bishop Saint Fernando (Two Chapters Combined)

Just as Agent Coulson breathed a sigh of relief and attempted to negotiate with the bishop, a soft mechanical scream came from behind. A ball of intense blue plasma swept across the corridor, vaporizing the heavy wooden doors, and exploded in a blinding light on the bewildered bishop. Immediately afterward, the room was filled with explosions and smoke, a supernatural mixture of smoke, blood, flesh, and ashes.

The rapidly expanding gas created a terrifying explosive shockwave. Agent Coulson's vision went black as the blast slammed him out of the charred, ruined doorway of the bishop's office. An indescribable stench, accompanied by an explosive storm that could almost burn skin, assaulted his senses. Even a battle-hardened agent couldn't endure or describe such an extreme environment. The smell was like the charred, putrid blood and entrails of a burning slaughterhouse; the pungent, fishy smoke made it impossible for him to open his eyes. Rows of hanging, rotting meat were being consumed by flames, thin wisps of smoke billowing from their veins.

Agent Coulson, forced back by the intense heat, found his sparse hair almost singed and curled. He staggered out of the bishop's office, his vision blurred by the smoke, yet he still recognized the figure rushing towards him. On the other side of the corridor, the Precision Stand, plasma pistol in hand, repeatedly pulled the trigger, seven brilliant blue flashes streaking across the air, the intense heat of those passing stars still lingering. "Come here, Agent Coulson!" the Precision Stand shouted, striding towards the bishop's office, gripping the *Dark Book* tightly in one hand. This was the first time Agent Coulson had seen this alchemical body show such anxiety, but before he could understand what was happening, he heard the Precision Stand commandingly, "Don't look back!"

Immediately following was another burst of high-temperature plasma and a blinding explosion. Thick gray smoke, like a living creature, climbed the ceiling and extended hundreds of dancing, gray-black tentacles downwards. This time, the precise double arrived beside Agent Coulson, repeatedly pulling the trigger, firing several bursts of plasma with stellar temperatures. Only when the pressurized chamber could no longer withstand the impact, when the battery pack was completely depleted, and when the energy storage tank had exhausted all the metallic compressed gas, did he drop the overheated plasma pistol, which was spewing coolant vapor, and reach out with his scalded arm to firmly grasp Agent Coulson's suit collar.

The Precision Stand shoved him forcefully into a nearby vertical corridor. Smoke from the burning office was already billowing out, accompanied by inhuman screams. "Run, Agent Coulson," the current SHIELD agent said, unable to see clearly through the smoke. Hot liquid soaked the back of his suit collar and neck; Agent Coulson recognized the smell. It was the smell of blood, a metallic stench that overpowered the acrid odor of burning wood. "We've all been fooled. This isn't something your non-lethal weapons can handle."

The Precision Stand raised its arm, its skin scalded by the high-temperature coolant steam. The swollen, peeling skin drooped and then fell off. The wrinkled skin hit the ground with a loud thud, like a wet rag being violently thrown. Agent Coulson could even see the bright red muscle against the white skeleton, thick blood seeping from the scalded skin and dripping onto the ground. The Precision Stand's entire forearm and palm had been scalded raw by the high-temperature steam, but the alchemical body showed no signs of pain. Its expression remained unchanged except for the initial seriousness, as if the pain from these injuries did not affect its actions at all.

"What exactly happened?"

"A page is missing from the Dark Book," the Precision Stand said quickly, his eyes filled with anxiety. He had realized the mistake Robbie Reyes had made; because of his superstition, more than just the living had seen the Dark Book. Perhaps the spirit he possessed wanted to warn him, but the whipping ritual had forcefully suppressed its whispers. "I underestimated Robbie Reyes's faith in religion. Agent Coulson, please do your best to evacuate the crowd."

“I understand.” Agent Coulson nodded. The Precision Double’s explanation wasn’t clear enough; he still didn’t know what had happened, but his agent instincts compelled him to follow the Precision Double’s decision. “What about the evacuation plan? Do we have reinforcements?” he asked. “There’s at least one Quinjet flying overhead, isn’t there?”

"S.H.I.E.L.D. is gone now, Agent Coulson. No evacuation plan, no reinforcements, and we can't burn down St. Fernando's Cathedral." The Precision Stand sighed, looking at the faint orange-red flames flickering in the bishop's office at the other end of the corridor. "I didn't expect someone to fall so quickly, and the possessing spirit couldn't even detect it. Either the spirit is too weak, or Robbie Reyes' superstition made him ignore warnings. The plasma weapons are overheating now, and I have no technological creations left to use against the enemy. What is this...?"

Agent Coulson pulled what looked like a flashlight from his suit's inner pocket. He pressed a switch, and a blue laser beam shot out from one end. "This is a rat hole, Fitz's laser cutter—better than nothing. As for me—" He brandished his SP-21 Barak pistol, an Israel Defense Industries product that used .45 ACP ammunition, "—this will suffice."

The perfect double accepted Agent Coulson's gift and walked alone toward the bishop's office, which was billowing with smoke.

Flames flickered amidst the thick, gray-black smoke, and the terrifying roar grew ever louder. The ancient building trembled involuntarily, and the beams that had been replaced over a century ago were now licked by the flames. Remaining moisture evaporated, and the entire building seemed to emit a grotesque creaking sound. Agent Coulson first smashed the fire alarm with the grip of his pistol. As he turned to look at the bishop's office, he vaguely saw a phantom light above the head of the precise double entering the fire. This light, though not bright, was enough to pierce the suffocating smoke. The "Rat Hole" cutter, invented by Leopold Fitz, seemed to be affected as well; the alloy grip was scorched and deformed by the light, intricately etched into its surface by the flames, and blue laser beams extended and spread like longswords.

Agent Coulson was certain that the Emperor's consciousness was manipulating a precise double, because no one in the world would joke about Star Wars when it came to life and death.

The burning skeleton burst forth from the thick smoke, along with a swollen humanoid body that was also thrown out.

The flames from hell burned away flesh, filling the gaps between the snow-white bones with fire. The stellar heat did not completely incinerate the target's upper body, but it destroyed things in the material universe. Nothing in this world was unaffected by such heat, unless it came from another world. Judging from the remaining white silk fabric embroidered with gold thread on the lower half of the humanoid body, this humanoid was the bishop of the Church of San Fernando who had presided over the flogging ceremony. His face, which had previously maintained a normal human form, was now obscured by confusion and madness, distorted beyond recognition of the kind elder he had been. His body, hidden beneath the white priest's robes, had long since decayed and become festering sores due to old age and obesity.

The Precision Stand wielded "Rathole," the laser burning long charred marks into the sickly skin. This laser cutter's power exceeded hardware limitations, significantly larger than Leopold Fitz's original design, even penetrating the thick smoke. Lacking proper cooling, the "Rathole's" alloy shell became scorching hot from the high power of the battery pack, and even wisps of smoke rose from the Precision Stand's palms, but in such a complex environment, this smoke was insignificant. "He became like this entirely because of you, Robbie Reyes. Because of your stupidity and superstition, he had the opportunity to obtain this book."

The burning skeleton roared, seemingly trying to defend itself, but the swollen humanoid gave it no time.

Several deformed creatures, each the size of a fingertip, emerged from behind the curtain, their fragile, swollen skin oozing out and falling to the ground. Foul-smelling, viscous pus gushed forth like a fountain, then solidified instantly into a pool of claw marks of some unknown substance by the creatures' reptilian feet. In a flash, these tiny deformed creatures coalesced into a tidal wave of evil spirits, their bodies compressed by the laws of reality, causing them to flicker like illusions in the eyes of ordinary people.

However, these illusions corroded the stone floor and gnawed at the brick walls.

But for Robbie Reyes and the Precision Stand, every blasphemous whisper uttered by these monsters with mouths utterly devoid of biological evolution was not only crystal clear, but also seemed to be squeezing their souls. Especially the rotting corpse with its spine severed by lasers, raising its festering arms, from which smaller monsters constantly sprouted, as it hummed a blasphemous hymn. The high-frequency hymn, beyond the range of normal human hearing, almost ripped open the burning ceiling of the church, offering power and silence as gifts, sensual stimulation as rewards; utter violence and knowledge surged towards the Precision Stand almost visibly.

They yearn for that fragment of the soul, a holy grail brimming with rewards.

As for the unfortunate administrator caught in the crossfire, he had long since turned into a lump of rotting flesh in pus. Flies swarmed out from behind the curtain, laying their eggs on the decaying flesh. In the blink of an eye, the fly eggs skipped the maggot stage and hatched into flies, adding to the horrible and annoying mess. Robbie Reyes immediately swung out the red-hot iron chains, and hellfire brutally cleaved the corridor from the bishop's office, simultaneously burning the small monsters that overflowed the corridor like a tidal wave alive. This was the only correct thing he had done that day without eliciting a look of disgust from his precise Stand.

As for why the Bishop of St. Fernando Church was able to obtain that spell with such precision, gaining the ability to hide right under the noses of spirits and even deceive the eyes of the Precision Stand, that remains unknown. The consciousness of the Precision Stand doesn't intend to figure it out now, but the soul controlling it has already locked onto the mastermind behind it—something predicted his journey and guided an innocent person to peruse the Dark Book, even tearing out a page to read and study. While the Precision Stand can accomplish many things, it also exposes a fatal weakness in the Emperor: allowing many beings behind the veil to access his unprotected soul and consciousness.

A trap was set using an accident and Robbie Reyes's superstition, giving the mastermind the opportunity to touch the Emperor's soul. The threads of fate behind the veil may have orchestrated this trap long before the bishop was born, arranging his entire life, from his time at the Indian school and meeting the girl to finding work. This is utter blasphemy, a desecration of the free will of the human race. This is the conspiracy behind the veil against the Emperor; they know the Emperor will absolutely not allow this to happen and will definitely trace it back to them.

Why are you spacing out?

Salomon looked down and noticed that the meat on his fork had fallen back onto the plate.

"No, it's nothing."

Although he said that, the witch did not miss the light in his eyes.

This meant he had begun using extradimensional powers, and in ways unknown to the witches. However, Jeanne didn't ask, nor did Bayonetta. Instead, she took the plate in front of him and swapped it with the sliced ​​meat on her own plate, knowing that Salomon's thinking abilities were currently limited, leaving him with little capacity to process reality. To prevent him from appearing like an idiot or choking on his own thoughts, the witch, as the mistress of the manor, naturally took on the responsibility of caring for Salomon. This wasn't the first time she'd done this; she had cared for Salomon several times since he was a child when he suffered serious injuries or accidents.

"Remember to eat the broccoli," Bayonetta turned and specifically reminded Milia. Although the latter hadn't noticed anything amiss, she had keenly spotted an opportunity to sneak some broccoli into her foster father's plate. But the opportunity quickly vanished; Bayonetta grabbed Milia's wicked little hand. The girl looked distressed, but Bayonetta remained unmoved, her gaze fixed on the girl with a mocking expression until Milia gave up struggling and put the broccoli back in the plate. "No broccoli, no games, no fishing, no swimming," she warned. "Do you want to swim in a cold pool, Milia?"

The girl obediently shook her head.

British winters are notoriously cold; even manor houses don't keep the heating on 24/7. One morning, Milia suddenly had a whimsical idea: to jump out of her small room window into the swimming pool. Perhaps some innate magic allowed her to do it, but the icy pool caused her to fall in and bounce back out, only to be apprehended by Diana, who followed closely behind. Unsurprisingly, Milia caught a cold and received a good scolding from Bayonetta while still wrapped in a blanket. Children Milia's age often have some annoying thoughts and actions, and Milia's ability allows her to turn those thoughts into reality. Don't be fooled by her seemingly obedient demeanor in front of Salomon; it's merely because her intuition has discerned the Emperor's supreme power and his place in the food chain.

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(End of this chapter)