"The Eyes of the World possess the power to control time and space. Both the Sage Clan and the Witch Clan have crudely imitated the power of the Eyes of the World. This is understandable—after all, even the most gifted among the Watchers of the World have never truly mastered the power of the twin Eyes. The witches and sages had to seek alternate means to enhance their combat strength." When the silver key he kept close began to radiate magic, Solomon recalled the Elder's conclusion once again. The forces emanating from the Sage, the Witch, and the boy resonated with each other—truth remains unchanged, no matter what form it takes.
Just as the Arcanist was beginning to understand what was happening, he saw Rodin waving at him from a distance.
Damn Rodin!
Solomon was certain now that Rodin knew everything about the boy's origins. Bayonetta's sudden involvement in the battle must have been due to his persuasion. But before the Arcanist could respond with a particularly Italian hand gesture he'd learned from the witch, the silver key flared to life, opening a dark violet rift behind him—and swallowed him whole before he could react. The fallen angel craftsman simply shrugged—his task from the Sorcerer Supreme was complete, his masterpiece finished. It was time to return to the material plane. As for why the Sorcerer Supreme would trick his own disciple, Rodin didn't even care to wonder.
Solomon took a deep breath, whispered an incantation, and checked his condition.
He looked around and was struck by a strange sense of familiarity. The surroundings were dark but not cold—there was a decadent grandeur to the atmosphere. He tried to remember where he had seen this place before. He caught the scent of something burning, and faint commotion sounded from behind the moss-covered, rain-worn black stone wall near him. Even though flailing around with multiple guns pointed at his helmet was dumb and easily misunderstood as threatening, Solomon was fairly confident that his helmet could stop a few bullets.
"Who are you!" barked the woman in front of him, clad in traditional black leather witch attire. She knocked the barrel of her gun against his helmet for emphasis. From Solomon's observation, the gold embroidery on her outfit was exquisite and far more intricate than those of the women behind her—clearly someone in a mid-level command role. Her lower face was hidden by a veil, but her furrowed brow and tone betrayed clear impatience. "Are you with the Sages? Talk, we don't have time!"
"He's wearing golden armor! He must be one of them! Damn men—never any good!"
"Kill him! The Sage Clan has slaughtered so many of our sisters!"
"He's so tall! Should we make him take off the helmet so we can see his face?"
"This isn't the time for mate selection!" the lead witch snapped, glaring at the younger voice, clearly annoyed that some hormone-fueled adolescent was derailing the conversation. She turned back to Solomon. "No sudden moves. Hands off your weapons. We don't have time to interrogate you, so you'd better tell me who you are. Or else..."
"I know you're fighting the Sages and those upper-plane creatures," Solomon said calmly, following instructions and avoiding any threatening gestures. "Ladies, relax. We share a common enemy. I'm looking for a Sage—I intend to kill him."
"Who?" the lead witch asked.
"Baldur," the Arcanist replied. "I have to kill him here. Tell me where he is."
A shorter witch behind the leader suddenly asked, "Could he be one of Rosa's admirers?"
"Shh! Don't say that name!" the leader shot a wary glance at Solomon and barked the warning. But her revolver lowered slightly. The Witch Clan had lost much of its fighting force in repeated defenses. They had to conserve power wherever possible. If this man truly was an enemy of the Sage Clan, then he was, at the very least, an unexpected ally—and any ally who could kill a Sage was welcome.
"I don't care why you want to kill Baldur—the one who caused all of this—but you'll come with us. We'll be watching you until we confirm you're telling the truth."
"Agreed. Take me now—I've waited long enough."
Bayonetta descended like a shooting star.
"I know where this is. I even know what time period this is," she said. She processed the situation even faster than Solomon—it made sense, given that she'd lived here before. What's more, she'd crossed timelines several times during events involving the Eyes of the World. Time travel was practically routine at this point. She strolled toward the fountain plaza—and was immediately attacked by lower angels.
Before she could react, a burst of gunfire precisely blew apart the incoming angels' heads. Blood sprayed like fireworks, mixing with the rain.
Bayonetta looked up to see a woman in a black silk bodysuit calmly clearing the plaza of lower angels. Her movements were unhurried, even flashy—lining up bullets in perfectly straight rows. These angels were clearly no match for her. None lasted more than a single exchange. Bayonetta recognized the technique—it was one she herself used. Watching the angels burst into brilliant blood blossoms, Bayonetta already had a good idea of who the woman was.
She had butterfly-shaped glasses—just like Bayonetta once wore. The woman stood on a lamppost and called down, "We'll be overrun soon. Gather everyone at the bell tower. We have to hold it to the last."
Then she noticed something off about the witch below. Jumping down and splashing through the rain, she approached Bayonetta.
"You're..."
She saw a face nearly identical to her own.
One glance was enough—blood called to blood. The older witch immediately understood who Bayonetta was. A clever woman, she quickly deduced the general reason Bayonetta had appeared in this era. Bayonetta's Eye of the World had been granted by her—it was she who had held the previous generation's Eye. That was why she could cast Witch Time—she wielded the Eye's actual power.
But the rude angels couldn't sense dramatic tension and interrupted the moment. The witch from the past fired several shots into the sky in frustration. Bayonetta, sensing her intention, joined in without hesitation. Though they didn't state their relationship aloud, the witch and her mother moved in perfect sync.
No words were needed. Their fighting styles were identical, their cooperation seamless.
Once they'd finished off the lower angels, both witches looked up at the sky. Several massive portals opened, and through them emerged living warships—middle-tier Seraphim known as Adorations. Behind them came a Quaternity Angel, representing the element of fire: Fortitude. A twin-headed draconic angel dove toward the fountain plaza, targeting the two witches below.
But before it could strike—
A deafening roar of jet engines tore through the sky, drawing the attention of every sentient creature.
Bayonetta saw a golden meteor fall from the heavens and pierce Fortitude in a single, devastating blow.
"Who's that?" the witch from the past chuckled. "I could hear your heartbeat when he appeared."
"Just a boy I raised," Bayonetta replied, feigning nonchalance as she turned her head. "I don't know how he followed me here. It was his idea. I didn't ask for any of this."
"You're blushing!"
"Fine, maybe because he's doing pretty well—for now, in every way..."
(End of Chapter)
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