Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1426 The Spirit of Machines (Second Update)

Level IV body armor is designed to protect against 5.56x45mm small-caliber rifle armor-piercing rounds, but it inevitably falls short when facing .75mm ammunition at close range. To say it falls short is an understatement; a 20mm bullet is practically an anti-armor artillery shell. Against high-value targets with protective capabilities, such as armored vehicles, aircraft, and fortifications, conventional personnel body armor is as fragile as paper against explosive rounds.

Faced with these echoes of time that came from the subconscious into the material universe, he didn't even bother to use much supernatural power. He simply attached his mental energy to the explosives and used continuous, precise, and swift shooting to eliminate any Trinity mercenaries that appeared before him. Sometimes he didn't even need to fire a shot; he would simply approach those shadowy ghosts, and they would evaporate like snowflakes under the scorching sun, leaving no trace—including those bullets and anti-tank missiles that blurred the lines between reality and illusion. The soldiers couldn't even realize that they weren't real; they still shouted battle slogans and called out to nonexistent comrades and superiors because they were only piecing together fragments from fragmented memories.

To these lowly beings, who are not even worthy of being called ghosts, the radiant power emanating from his soul was like molten gold. Too bright and scorching, it easily burned away memories as fleeting as dew. If anyone were to look directly into his soul, they would be like the dried corpses of those mystical families, their bodies scorched by the heat that could affect reality.

His shooting was very accurate.

Each time he pulled the trigger, the scorching gas from the muzzle kicked up dust, making him feel as if he were walking on ripples of a gray lake. He carried only a twenty-round magazine, but each time he pulled it out, a profound incantation conjured new explosive rounds. He could feel the electronic components and mechanics of the explosive gun singing merrily, eager to unleash flames and unleash its innate destructive instincts. It was working in perfect harmony with each trigger pull, smoothly releasing the scalding propellant gases and stabilizing the bolt's movement after each round. It yearned to be held, to be used, to be soaked in the blood of righteous slaughter, to roar with the pure voice of hatred.

These echoes from another dimension shouldn't be here; the library should be the safest place in Kamar-Taj. The explosive gun seemed to sense his anger, shouting for justice, for the culprits to pay the price. "You will taste their blood, girl," the Emperor pulled back the bolt, loading a new explosive round into the chamber. "Soon, I will feed you with their souls."

The bullet fragments flew at an astonishing speed, and blood only began to seep out seconds after they cut through the skin.

For the victim, the graze was like "being bitten by a bullet." The ghost bullet caused the seeping blood to freeze, but every movement she made torn at her skin by the hard frost, causing more bleeding—she was running frantically along the yarn trail on the ground. Ever since the memory of the dead person appeared, she had been worried about her defenseless "witch friend." The guilt she felt at that moment was far more painful than the bullet graze on her ankle that followed. The surge of adrenaline didn't make Laura Crawford immediately aware of the pain; she only felt herself bump into something, then ducked into cover and fired two shots.

With a thud, a fully armed corpse fell at her feet and instantly turned to dust. She wasn't surprised by the sight, as she had witnessed similar events more than once. After the initial shock, she quickly accepted the reality that she knew nothing about what was happening there.

The line between illusion and reality blurred. Laura Crawford felt the darkness around her vision deepen, and her mind grew increasingly hazy. Her remaining consciousness told her she was suffering from hypoxia, low blood sugar, and low blood pressure. The pungent smell of the propellant was almost suffocating until she ran into a place radiating warm light. Ghostly steam rose from her skin, and the illusory ice crystals clinging to her clothes and skin evaporated in an instant. It was like jumping from a frozen wasteland into a bathtub full of hot water; her frozen limbs began to feel warmth and comfort. But Laura Crawford had no time to notice such details; she saw someone raise a gun on the edge of her consciousness.

If she could recall her thoughts at that time later, they would surely be filled with despair.

She knew she had been too reckless, jumping into this potentially enemy-occupied passage without prior reconnaissance or maneuvering. She couldn't imagine any enemy ignoring such obvious markers on the ground. If those Trinity soldiers, appearing out of nowhere, wanted to kill her, now was their best chance. Unsurprisingly, she heard gunfire again beside her, the deafening blast nearly stopping her heart and interrupting her instinctive counterattack. She knew she was facing death.

"He saved me, but I don't know how he got to my side."

"If you want to sleep with him, then just say so. I won't shoot you, at least not this time."

Bayonetta hid her upturned lips with her wine glass. This wasn't unheard of; usually, she resolved things with a bottle, not a gun. After all, this was London, not New York; she frequented high-society salons, not American bars—when she encountered women like that in New York, she'd pull a gun far more often than smash a bottle—she wasn't one of those California women with long fake nails, expensive bikinis, UV-tanned skin, and desperate attempts to emulate the Kardashians, who only pulled each other's hair when they argued. "If I shot every woman who tried to get him into bed since he was thirteen, this estate's ammunition reserves would definitely run out," the witch shrugged. "He was quite charming back then; you can't imagine how many flies he attracted in the summer, wearing only a shirt."

Laura Crawford took it as a lighthearted joke.

"I admit he's charming, but not to that extent," she said, shaking her head with a smile. She knew the allure of Bayonetta and Joan of Arc; even as a woman, it was hard not to be attracted to such beautiful bodies. She preferred witnessing those sculpted, Greek-style physical interactions to participating herself; she enjoyed the visual spectacle. "Let me continue. I know nothing about this at the moment. I can only tell you what happened when he found me."

The mage Hamil was unaware of what had transpired inside the library. He wasn't worried at all about what Salomon might encounter while alone in the library, as he knew the contents were hardly a challenge for him. He knew this task was crucial; the missing spells could only be replenished after all extradimensional beings were banished. Therefore, the mage Hamil gathered several helpers and retrieved the key-shaped artifact from the young mage.

"Master Wu Guiyue, Master Modu, Master Kasilios." Master Hamil gave a slight bow of courtesy, then showed the others the key in his prosthetic hand. "I believe everyone understands those incantations."

"I know the incantation, but I don't know what happened here." Mordo's mental state had improved considerably. After a period of quiet reflection and introspection, his self-control and magical abilities had returned to what they were before. The mage Hamil was very pleased with this, as Kamar-Taj lacked the manpower to openly operate the organization. "We must know what happened in the library, and how it happened, mage Hamil."

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(End of this chapter)