Everything was proceeding step by step. Everyone knew that the moment their Lord appeared, the final battle would begin.
Aside from the artillery and anti-aircraft emplacements that had to maintain suppressive fire, the clashes between the angels and the Eternal City had gradually calmed down. There were no intact rocks left near the mid-slope of Mount Fimbulwinter; the once-pristine ridge now looked like a Titan had taken a massive bite out of it. But such destruction was still tolerable for the angels. Only lower- and mid-tier angels had died so far. These creatures, entirely ignorant of military theory, couldn't understand why the Eternal City had constructed such a three-dimensional defense network. As for the Eternal City preventing them from leaving, the angels didn't care—they never intended to leave Fimbulwinter in the first place.
Thanks to Victoria Hand's ruthless pragmatism and spiteful creativity, several ornate Baroque-style boxes—repeatedly flagged by Baron Mordo as something better left untouched—were delivered to the front lines. The contents of these boxes were unceremoniously mixed into the flamethrower fuel. At this moment, the angels still had no idea what kind of weapon Victoria Hand had prepared for them.
Due to the special nature of these weapons, the flamethrowers were handed over to the Sisterhood.
Tita had none of Sophia's worries. She didn't need to fear that her soldiers might be corrupted by the enemy's power during combat. The Sisterhood had already defined these beings as "false angels" and wielded their unwavering faith as a weapon against their "deceitful sorcery." To be honest, even the intelligence director was stunned when she heard this, casting a sideways glance at the nearby Kamar-Taj Arcanist. But Agent Hand remained cool and composed, simply skipping over the subject without comment.
"Besides, these ultra-fine bone ash powders weren't meant to be used here," Tita said, pretending not to notice Victoria Hand's expression. "According to our Lord's orders, we should scatter the ashes atop Mount Fimbulwinter to weaken the fake angels' sorcery."
"The Lord issued another, higher-priority order: frontline commanders have authority to adjust tactics as needed," Agent Hand replied, shaking her head. "I've already run tests. Mixing bone ash into flamethrower fuel has no impact on performance. Besides, we don't have nearly enough of those black magic creature ashes—"
Hand glanced at Mordo. The baron shrugged. Extradimensional beings either slipped into the material plane through dimensional rifts or were summoned by intelligent beings via blood sacrifice. Kamar-Taj showed no mercy when hunting them. A whole corpse was rare. There wasn't much left to burn into ash and send to the Eternal City. It wasn't Kamar-Taj's fault—just bad luck.
"—I have the authority to maximize the effectiveness of these weapons. And if you'll excuse me, I have several other experimental weapons to test," Victoria Hand said, turning back to the holographic command table. "Prepare for battle. The Lord could appear at any moment. We all must follow in his footsteps—that is the purpose of this organization. Notify the Honor Guard to be ready. His personal transport is already on the landing pad. It's time for him to work. I don't want to hear about him sitting on a battleship avoiding the regular fight. Tell him the front line is the best place to protect the Lord."
Solomon wasn't participating much.
He stood atop a towering rock on the floating island, watching Bayonetta and the summoned Butterfly Lady pummel the thief who had stolen Jeanne's soul—well, not exactly a "thief." Lady Thorns was a demon of lord-level rank. Though they hailed from different depths of the Abyss, she was nominally equal in power to the Butterfly Lady and Lady Styx. And it seemed the Butterfly Lady had, on more than one occasion, taken things—or things Lady Thorns believed were hers—from her. The bitter feud between these two demonic women had lasted longer than human history itself.
He could see it clearly: Jeanne's soul was inside Lady Thorns' belly. The demoness displayed it openly, forcing Bayonetta to hold back during her attacks, and even the Butterfly Lady was restrained.
Taking advantage of a moment in the counterattack, Bayonetta sent a telepathic message to Solomon. "Darling, have you seen the boy?"
"No!" Solomon shouted back aloud—the most straightforward way, so as not to burden the witch's combat focus. Occasionally, he fired bomb rounds to keep Lady Thorns in check, preventing her from catching Bayonetta off guard. When Lady Thorns arrogantly declared that once she finished digesting Jeanne's soul, she would gain the power to kill the Butterfly Lady, Solomon fired an entire clip of bomb rounds at her, blasting her crimson, fleshy crown into bloody ruin.
"Find him!" the witch said. "The Sage won't let him go!"
"You already know who the Sage is, don't you?" This time Solomon didn't shout. He sent the question into Bayonetta's soul like a feather brushing across silk. But the witch's reply was hard as steel. Her usual playfulness had vanished, buried beneath a cold, snow-covered forest.
"I know," she said. "If I could kill him once, I can kill him again. I won't hesitate."
After all, the downfall of the witch clan was deeply tied to the Sage's bloodline—and even to Bayonetta's own father. Her mindset was understandable. Solomon tilted his head. "I think we can kill this demon together first, then go find him. Jeanne's still in that belly. We've got to get her out and clean her up—smelly witches aren't very popular." He grinned. "I think the brat can hold on for now. He's remembered who he is. It'll take the Sage some time to subdue him. Let's take a bath, have breakfast, and then a nap, darling. I want to see you in that sheer nightgown."
Bayonetta burst into laughter. "Go on, darling. I'll be right behind you."
Rodin, though aware of the arcane energy exchanged between the Arcanist and the witch, had no interest in what they were saying. All he cared about was the piece he was about to complete.
Lady Thorns was the key ingredient in that work.
He didn't object to Solomon's departure—after all, the Arcanist always took the witch's side. Rodin didn't want pressure from both of them. Once his network confirmed who had taken Jeanne's soul, he had started crafting a vessel capable of containing Lady Thorns' essence. He knew her death was highly likely. But no matter what, he couldn't let Bayonetta waste her.
So when Bayonetta finally tore open Lady Thorns' stomach and pulled Jeanne's soul free, Rodin stood before the Butterfly Lady's titanic fist. More precisely, he reached out and caught her punch. The Butterfly Lady didn't understand the concept of holding back—especially not when facing an ancient nemesis.
"What are you doing, Rodin?" Bayonetta raised her pistol.
"I just don't want to see her wasted," the fallen angel craftsman said, pulling out a long-prepared device. "Just one last step. This tool was made just for her."
(End of Chapter)
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