Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 809 Strange Circumstances (First Update)

The damage caused by the witch was truly staggering. Although the mages standing in the square couldn't see the extent of the disaster directly, real-time satellite images showed that the corpse of the Quadruple Archangel had destroyed more than one building. Salomon was once again thankful that he had evacuated the crowd; otherwise, the locals, unaware of the danger, could very well have been buried under the rubble. Out of some unknown sense of responsibility, Salomon couldn't bear not doing so when he could minimize the sacrifices.

The excuse of a biological weapon leak always works. No wonder S.H.I.E.L.D. always used this excuse when they wanted to evacuate the scene. They even used it when Thor's hammer fell, which made the guy who was grilling meat for Salomon run away in panic.

Battles against sages are extremely tiring, with mental exhaustion far exceeding physical fatigue. Although Salomon hadn't activated many stigmata due to his resentment, he still exerted himself somewhat when facing such a formidable enemy. He needed to constantly project his gaze into higher, deeper planes to observe the sage's movements, and between each clash of swords and spears, he strategized, set traps, and considered how to set the next trap if they were discovered. At the same time, his eyes in the real world still needed to be fixed on the enemy, and his brain needed to rely on past training to withstand the attacks. Therefore, when the battle ended and he deactivated his stigmata, he felt dizzy and had to rely on the life support system of his power armor to inject drugs to try to maintain his mental state and calm his lungs and heart, which felt like they were about to explode and were almost charred.

He needed to drink some water; the sweat from the power armor circulation wasn't enough to fully meet his bodily needs.

The sorcerer climbed onto the roof, casting a spell to lighten his weight and avoid collapsing the house already ravaged by his battle with the sage. The violent energy on the holy sword gradually subsided and cooled, and the ozone smell in the air slowly dissipated, just as the anger contained within his emotions gradually subsided. He removed his scarred helmet, squinted, and stood beside the witch, looking at the distant place where dust was slowly falling.

The witch quietly stretched out her neck and sniffed his wet hair.

Perhaps it was hormones, but Bayonetta especially loved Salomon's sweat, much like the ancient Roman noblewomen's fascination with gladiator sweat—it was the ultimate aphrodisiac for her. Conversely, Salomon also loved Bayonetta's scent, which always reminded him of her skin, pillows, and curtains; of gardens, perfumes, and the warm afternoon sun. Bayonetta had only sweated slightly; the cool air helped dissipate the heat generated during the battle. He winked at her, and the witch licked her lips in response; they were both eager to end the mission.

Undoubtedly, the Four Virtues Angel was dead. Angels whose rank was below that of Lady Butterfly could not possibly withstand such a terrible attack. But Salomon did not think that the Sages would die so easily. Even if they were smashed into the ground by the angel's remains, spellcasters would have plenty of ways to escape, let alone the Sage race, which was always shrouded in the mists of history. Even if the great enemy was burned to a crisp by the angel's blood and billowing smoke, even if all living things in that crater were crushed and charred, the Sages would still have enough means to survive, because if the Witch race could do it, the Sage race would naturally be no exception.

He repeatedly spun the battle from a few minutes earlier, feeling that the sage hadn't fought him with all his might. Both his seasoned combat skills and powerful summoning magic suggested the sage could have fought better. Their battle hadn't even destroyed the plaza—the arcane mage had originally anticipated that the charming marble fountain on the other side of the plaza would have been shattered into pieces, not just a blown-off head. His losses shouldn't have been limited to parts of his power armor. He was prepared to endure fractures and torn muscles, even the agony of his internal organs being shredded, and to continue fighting, fueled by the violence and savagery pumping into his veins, by duty and resilience.

However, none of this happened. Even the power armor retained its most basic functions, with only muscle soreness and dizziness caused by excessive lactic acid and oxygen deficiency. While such pain would be enough for an ordinary person to lie in a hospital bed and recover from dissolved muscles and internal organs, for Salomon it was merely a high-intensity warm-up. Even if he hated the Stigmata, the arcane mage had to be grateful for possessing something that could reveal his true nature. When the Earth Mother created him, she placed knowledge and power first, although in a sense, the two were essentially the same.

"The sage is definitely not dead," Salomon said to the witch. "Where did that guy go? Why isn't he attacking us anymore?"

"Let's hurry!" the boy urged. "Whether that guy is dead or not, we have to get to the Falls Church."

Salomon glanced at him.

The boy had witnessed the entire battle between him and the sage, facing the clash of swords and the roar of battle, even taking in the radiance of the holy marks. Yet, at this moment, he appeared perfectly healthy, without deafness, blindness, madness, or screaming, just like an ordinary little boy. This ordinariness displayed in such an extraordinary moment is precisely what makes it extraordinary.

"What have you remembered?" the sorcerer asked. "I mean, about yourself. Stop lying. Have you forgotten that the Sage's target is you? Bayonetta and I risked our lives to protect you, and in exchange, you must tell the truth. Believe me, the Falls Church isn't hard to find, because there are things in this world called cell phones and Google Maps. At worst, we can fly up and see it."

Salomon's words seemed to elicit another reaction from the boy.

Despite the boy's efforts to think, and the sorcerer's clandestine attempts to probe his mind, the results were unclear. Even though Salomon possessed the wisdom to analyze others' minds, he could never examine a blank slate—the boy truly couldn't remember much. The sorcerer only saw a boy who looked exactly like him, except for the color of his clothes, speaking to him. But both the background and the voice were so blurry, as if sunk to the bottom of a pond overgrown with algae. All the sorcerer heard were indistinct, frustrating mutterings, like bubbling bubbles carrying greasy, foul-smelling sludge rising to the surface. He had seen this scene before; it was the image that appeared when the boy first had a headache, yet even the boy himself didn't know what it meant.

It has to be said that this is quite frustrating.

"Right now, the only thing we can be sure of for this little thing is that there is indeed a passage to the upper and lower planes on Mount Finnbowent," the witch said, looking at the boy who was clutching his head in agony. "Although the sage's appearance is quite unexpected, don't forget that our mission is to go to Hell and rescue Joan of Arc's soul. As for why the sage wanted to kill this boy, we can talk about that later."

Salomon put his helmet back on, the blood-red visor on the golden eagle helmet staring straight at the boy.

He pointed to the goggles, meaning "I'll be watching you." The boy gave a disgruntled snort, but didn't object, because he knew the deal wasn't fair; the sorcerer and witch were giving far more than he was offering.

Please vote for me!

(End of this chapter)