Bayonetta had witnessed her mother's death more than once.
Yet when faced with the temptation to alter the past—to change a fixed point in history—she remained remarkably composed. Even knowing that she would spend countless days in the future agonizing over this decision, she still chose to confront the unbearable torment of self-imposed guilt and the inevitable parting with astonishing willpower. She gazed with deep longing at Rosa walking ahead, but dared not speak a word of what was about to unfold.
Rosa, too, seemed aware of something, but she never once mentioned the future. As the previous bearer of the Eye of the World, she naturally understood what it meant.
"I can't go with you," the Arcanist said, walking beside her. His voice had gone hoarse from dehydration, and fatigue showed at the corners of his eyes. He had confronted the strongest of the Sages twice—an inhuman battle that left even him drained after deactivating his stigmata. "I wasn't sent to this point in time by the Eye of the World—it was the Silver Key. I'll need another method to return to our era."
"I know," Bayonetta replied. "Then… can I ask you to do one thing?"
"You don't even have to say it. I already know what you're going to ask," Solomon said as he looked at Rosa's back and nodded. "No one will disturb her, I promise. But I can't give the same peace to all the witches. Do you remember what we saw in that building?"
He meant the power-conduits discovered five hundred years later in the Isabelle Building.
Those devices, shaped like Iron Maidens, drove long iron spikes diagonally upward into the chest. When they found them, Solomon had realized that every one of those iron maidens contained corpses—drained of soul, blood, and flesh to continuously extract magical blood. That blood, in turn, powered the energy needed to resurrect Jubileus and to keep open the Eternal Gate to the Upper Plane. It was easy to imagine that those corpses were witches who died in this very war—perhaps even including the squad they had encountered earlier. Nearly all of them would perish in this conflict. Only two would survive: the girl later known as Bayonetta, Cereza, and Jeanne, who would be brainwashed and captured by the Sages.
Whether Rosa's corpse ended up in the Isabelle Building or not, Solomon had made up his mind. He would remain until the end, to witness the fall of the witches and to bury Rosa in a place where no one would ever disturb her. That was his duty—as an Arcanist and as a witch's partner. He already knew exactly what he needed to do.
"It's all right." Bayonetta gently squeezed his fingers. "Please… hide her somewhere no one can find."
Rosa watched Solomon's retreating figure with curiosity. Before leaving, he had offered a solemn bow, which left a strong impression on her. Polite people were rarely disliked—especially not when they were that handsome. She glanced toward Bayonetta.
"Your little sweetheart's not coming with you?"
"He has things to do," Bayonetta replied with a smile, all traces of sorrow wiped from her face. "I'm just a housewife. The outside world's business is for the man to handle."
"I doubt you're suddenly eager to learn how to wash dishes, Cereza," Rosa said, seeing through the pretense instantly. "He's a sweetheart, isn't he? How did you find such a darling little thing? And more importantly, how did you manage to capture his heart, keep him at your side, and make him put up with your temper?"
Bayonetta's tone rose with pride, and the face so like her mother's radiated pure satisfaction.
"You know how witches do things."
The path Solomon took was the opposite of the one leading to the witches' tower.
He activated his jet engines and soared toward the coliseum on the outskirts of the witches' stronghold, flying over a deep canyon shrouded in thick fog. Along the way, he was attacked not only by angels and Sages, but even by uninformed witches and torch-wielding mobs. Stirred up by the angels, these zealots had launched their own witch hunts. They had become so frenzied they no longer feared death, and some even dared to swing their crude weapons at Solomon. Some unlucky ones who got in his way were crushed into pulp beneath him; the rest, he ignored. He didn't even bother raising his blast gun to kill the ones who fled.
He plunged directly into the outer ring of the coliseum.
Five hundred years later, this would be the site of Bayonetta's battle against the Quaternity Angel of fire, Fortitude—a battle that would send the entire arena sky-high. Now, though still intact, the coliseum was long abandoned. Time and neglect had left it looking exactly like it would right before that future battle. Solomon stood atop one of the Roman-style walls still standing, with a clear view of the burning buildings and cacophony of war across the canyon. Plumes of smoke blocked out the moon.
There was no one here. The grease in the black-iron braziers sat cold, reflecting the pale moonlight.
"Master, I'm here." As soon as he spoke, a glow flared in the haunted forest—the light of a portal.
"My disciple from the future… you must be my favorite. Why else would I entrust you with the Holy Sword?" said the Sorcerer Supreme of this era, eyeing the sword in Solomon's scabbard with amusement. "So, what task did my future self give you? To observe the fall of the Watchers of the World? Or to purge all extra-dimensional beings from the mortal realm?"
"I've already done the first. As for the second, I believe it won't take much longer." Solomon answered calmly. "But what I truly want to know is the story of the Chaos Deity Aesah—after He split in two, where did that eternal soul go? And… how can I destroy it completely?"
"You want to kill an immortal being?"
That's your objective? A boy? Victoria Hand stood at the foot of the infirmary bed. She curled her lips with exasperation and asked, "I didn't expect you to intercept intelligence comms and stick your nose in the recon team's work. I thought your upgrades were for fighting, Constantine!"
"Unless the Monarch personally orders me to enter battle, none of this is my duty," Constantine replied slowly, unfazed by Victoria Hand's sarcasm. It was as if the long halberd in his hand existed only to support a calm discussion.
"This boy is important. The Monarch's armor optics recorded him—and his abnormal behavior. The Monarch marked him, so I saw the flag," Constantine said, pointing to the boy lying sedated on the bed, surrounded by busy medical staff. "Whatever the case, this boy must remain under our control. The medics have already begun sending his DNA samples to the biological lab. When are the Kamar-Taj Arcanists arriving? I need them to examine his soul."
(End of Chapter)
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