Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 665 The Witch's Mind and the Final Battle (Second Update)

Salomon's spell on her had vanished, and the rain, driven by the gale, poured down relentlessly, almost blinding her. Wanda wiped the rain from her face, struggling to maintain her footing amidst the relentless tremors and slippery ground. She knew she couldn't afford to show weakness, for this monster with leathery skin and black, sharp claws on its hands would seize every opportunity to kill her.

She stood with difficulty, her knees throbbing so badly she could barely straighten her legs, and the wounds on her palms made it difficult to make precise and complex spellcasting gestures. After James Boone transformed, shifting the battle from magical duels to hand-to-hand combat, magic became her only means of fighting the vampire's almost invisible attacks. Her small pistol for self-defense was useless, and she didn't believe the short sword at her waist could solve the problem. The only silver stake capable of piercing the vampire's skin was currently stuck in its claws. Unable to see the vampire's movements, she could only fight and dodge using her superhuman senses.

All magical potential manifests as specific physiological phenomena; even the mad witches of the past in the countryside went mad after seeing things they shouldn't have. These physiological phenomena manifest as extraordinary intelligence, accurate intuition, and so on. This is the connection between consciousness, soul, and body, and Wanda had studied the basics of this.

She closed her eyes and let her consciousness sink into the silvery-white plane.

A ethereal wind brushed across her face; she smelled the vampire's fear, she could hear the vampire's thoughts. An unguarded mind was a chaotic mess, a thousand wicked ideas nauseating, enough to make even a rudimentary spellcaster convulse and babble. The dark whispers that constantly tormented her suddenly intensified, filthy truths almost filling her brain. The witch quickly used methods she had learned to stabilize her mind, continuing her arduous descent with her soul. The undead's stench of magic was as conspicuous as a whale stranded on a beach, rotten and bloated; Wanda found it with ease.

She made a simple gesture, and a heartbeat later, crimson energy enveloped the dagger at her waist. She was an exceptionally bright student, having memorized Salomon's answer regarding flexibility in spellcasting combat. She also recalled her teacher's Cold War-era jokes, emphasizing the Soviet MiG-25 fighter jet, from which he concluded: with enough strength, even a brick could fly—a simple trick combined with sufficient magical energy could become a terrifying weapon. This dagger was her MiG-25. Without needing to grasp it, the dagger flew like an arrow from a bow under her control. First, it slit the throat, then rammed the wobbly silver stake back into it. While the vampire was still reeling from the pain inflicted by the silver object, the dagger, like a nail, pierced its skull. The immense force yanked James Boone towards the other side of the reef, simultaneously ripping off his skull to reveal his gruesome, rotting brain.

The vampire roared as it rose again; the wounds that would kill an ordinary person were merely a slow recovery for it. It pulled the smoking silver stake from its hand, drew the dagger embedded between its eyes, and filled its ripped mouth with rainwater. In this life-or-death moment, its nearly exhausted courage propelled it to attack once more.

The witch took a deep breath, made another spellcasting gesture, and stood motionless, like an ordinary person frozen in place when crossing the street at the sight of a speeding car. The vampire was fast; she lost track of its movements, but this wasn't helplessness under pressure. She was facing death, but she wasn't a city girl her age who would scream at the sight of cockroaches and rats. She had tasted the bitterness of death since Sokovia's childhood, and more than once. She delved into the vampire's mind, and in an instant, she unearthed the conspiracy buried deep within its black heart—blackened bricks and weeds stained with blood, houses collapsed under the weight of winter snow, and the terrified faces of victims covered in blood. Twisted words filled the filthy spellbook, endless gray-white worms and slime were summoned, the storm subsided, the tower and the night sky revealed the death of a blood relative! An eerie silence crushed her eardrums, pounding wildly in her temples!

This is a sacrifice, but the ritual is not being conducted by a vampire! She and Salomon are merely pawns in this sacrifice! She must warn her teacher! Before that, she must resolve the immediate problem—she doesn't know if she will have the chance to tell her teacher the vampire's secret if she fails, but a deep-seated, inexplicable confidence and contempt for vampires keep her on the only path between the vampire and the Lighthouse, buying time for the arcane mage. She struggles to remain conscious, continuing her descent into the mind of the undead.

The vampire extended its sharp claws.

It felt the witch's soft, warm neck, felt the scalding blood flowing beneath her thin skin. With just a little force, it could snap her neck as easily as breaking a flower stem. James Boone's ugly mouth clenched with pleasure, imagining he could already hear the crisp sound of bones twisting. He was certain he would hear it, because he had grasped the little witch's neck! He felt it!

Chaotic energy erupted from the cracks between the stones, emitting sharp, explosive sounds. The energy-formed restraints gripped the halted undead like a giant hand. If witches were here, they would recognize this as magic unique to their race—the summoning of torture instruments—something Wanda had never learned. The vampire was certain he had the witch's head in his grasp, but the truth was far from it. James Boone stared in horror into the witch's eyes; his claws were still a finger's width away. He couldn't understand why he thought he had succeeded; he couldn't understand why he hadn't taken another step forward.

Wanda opened her eyes, smiled at the panicked James Boone, and ignored the sharp claws in front of her.

"Got you!" Black Claw was disintegrated by chaotic energy, and James Boone's hard-won courage vanished. The witch's face revealed a predator's smile, a smile that could shatter a vampire's mind. "Haven't you seen the illusion before? Poor little leech?"

She beckoned, and the silver stake, stained with black, blood-stained flesh, leaped from the crevice as if on command, plunging straight into the blackened brain. A foul stench rose from the rain, and the instrument of torture slowly retracted, torturing the vampire's ribs bit by bit, inflicting unimaginable agony. She repeatedly pulled the stake out, then inserted it at a different angle, almost congealed black blood gushing from the vampire's enormous eyes. She reveled in the vampire's cries, her deep-seated craving for pleasure satisfied by the agonizing death of this inferior creature before her. The witch's soul savored the sweet taste of her enemy's agonizing demise, yet she herself remained oblivious.

The earthquake stopped, as if the death of the vampire was a signal.

"How does it feel?"

"Beautiful," the witch blurted out, as if her tongue were no longer under her control. A sudden sense of danger made the pores on her spine bristle, and she turned around instantly, her eyes wide with terror. But then the fear vanished; something that had taken over her mind seemed to have encountered a natural enemy, quietly retracting the tendrils that had crawled all over her soul, returning Wanda's mind to her. The witch released the vampire, tossing him to the ground along with the corrupted silver stake.

"Teacher, listen to me... this isn't over yet!"

"I know this vampire isn't the mastermind," the sorcerer said, pursing his lips and deliberately avoiding the topic, as it wasn't the most pressing issue. He showed the witch what he had obtained—something he'd taken from the lighthouse keeper's table. The unfortunate fellow's neck was covered in tiny wounds; the lighthouse keeper was the only food source there, and many vampires coveted him. "He got a fragment of Edward Kelly's translation, which explains his mistakes in the sacrificial ritual. James Boone can't summon worms, and the spell isn't in the book; someone's helping him."

"Um……"

"Are you alright? Are you injured?" The sorcerer took out a bottle of potion. "Remember to pull the cloth off the wound first, otherwise it will clump together after it heals."

"I'm fine! Really!" Wanda quickly waved her hand, using the tip of her shoe to pry the silver stud out of the vampire's head. She tried to stand up straight, trying to ignore the effects of the abrasion and the craving for the deep red liquid. She turned around and secretly licked the raindrops with her tongue, trying not to let the sorcerer see this embarrassing scene. Sometime later, Salomon had already pushed the rain away, and even Wanda's long hair and clothes had been quietly dried.

"What should we do next? How can we find the mastermind behind this?"

"If I'm not mistaken, that guy won't jump out at this time." He looked at Wanda and said meaningfully, "And I think that guy has already achieved his goal; the sacrifice was just a side effect."

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(End of this chapter)