Locke looked at Carrie as she raised her head, watching her eyes shift from bewilderment into a reignited, burning gaze of absolute fury, and smiled slightly.
How entirely novel.
Back then, the ones seeking to put witches on trial weren't limited to just the New Orleans region. With the exception of few territories in other countries, practically everywhere else had been holding sweeping witch trials.
"New York..." Carrie murmured the name of the Dolan Church, before speaking up, "Where exactly?"
Locke noted smoothly, "No rush. Once we return, I'll take you there personally. Let grievances be answered with grievances, and blood feuds be answered with blood feuds."
To put it plainly, the Dolan Church was merely exploiting the current lack of an authoritative leader among the Salem witches to continuously bully them. But quite evidently, Carrie intended to act as the pillar of support for the Salem coven.
Therefore... when it came to choosing between Carrie and the Dolan Church, whom Locke would back wasn't even a question.
Locke had always protected his own regardless of conventional rules, and moreover, the Dolan Church possessed absolutely no justification regarding their historical actions toward the witches.
Who gave you the authority to declare witches guilty? Who do you think you are? Are you more formidable than the Peerless Assassin?
Recalling that immensely arrogant Dolan Pope within the New York Police Department, Locke let out a dismissive scoff.
Just as he was about to speak.
The next second, Carrie—her dynamic eyes flashing—suddenly threw herself straight into his embrace, subsequently bursting into a wild fit of weeping.
Locke blanked briefly. Observing Carrie, who wasn't weeping for herself but rather sobbing profoundly over the dense heaps of skeletal remains at Lake Pontchartrain, he couldn't resist letting out a soft sigh.
*Ding-dong!*
"Huh?"
With Carrie buried in his embrace weeping, Locke drew out his phone. Catching the subsequent text message sent over by Gwen, he smiled smoothly, composed a quick reply, and sent it back. Securing his phone once more, he focused on comforting the grieving Carrie.
They brought this entirely upon themselves.
Dolan Church, wash your necks thoroughly. To ensure my Dark Sovereign ceases her grieving, it is far better that you all simply perish.
Locke stared at the sobbing Carrie nestled in his embrace. While comforting her, those were the exact thoughts running through his mind.
At this precise moment.
Having stepped off the aircraft, the twelve descendants of the Dolan Crusaders alongside the two Grimm Hunters—who had initially been enduring a miserable trek on foot—finally ceased relying on their own legs. They had successfully secured a massive van capable of accommodating all fourteen of them simultaneously.
"Damn it." A descendant of the Crusaders loosened his tie, brushing away the snowflakes that had drifted inside, complaining aggressively.
"What exactly is wrong with the local Dolan Church? They dispatched twelve consecutive telegrams inviting us over, yet the moment we arrive to share in the grand celebration, they don't even show a single shadow?"
"Perhaps something happened to them."
"?"
Several descendants turned their gazes toward a companion who was gripping his mobile phone. The companion smoothly flipped the screen around to face them.
Laid bare before their eyes!
A local New Orleans media outlet had already documented the event in real-time, publishing the very first illustrated news report across the network, complete with explicit photographs. The images were highly distinct: the dozens of mounds of smoldering ash resting right before the entrance of the police precinct were exceptionally prominent.
"The Dark Sovereign!"
The descendants traded looks of utter disbelief. "The local Dolan Church... was completely wiped out by the Dark Sovereign?"
This...
"Impossible!"
"The Salem dimension has already perished."
"Correct."
"The Dark Sovereign definitely doesn't revere the Salem dimension."
"Then..."
"If she isn't a dark witch who reveres the Salem dimension, why on earth would she step forward to back them?"
"This..."
The descendants fell into a profound silence.
Dimensions were inherently incompatible with one another, particularly those sharing identical attributes. For instance, adherents of the Dark Dimension were thoroughly incompatible with those of the Hell Dimension.
After all, the Earth was only so large, and every faction desired absolute exclusivity; why would anyone provide assistance entirely without reason?
Particularly regarding the Salem witches. Back when their Lord was still present and they executed the Great Witch Trials, the witches who revered Grimm hadn't emerged to offer assistance either. It operated on the exact same logic.
Yet right now?
Right at that moment, a descendant of the Crusaders suddenly snapped his head upward. The short hair across his scalp bristled like a hedgehog, standing perfectly upright strand by strand, and he even let out a sharp hiss closely resembling a cat encountering an enemy.
"Hiss—!"
"What's wrong?"
The surrounding descendants looked toward their companion, who was currently arched like a frightened cat with his hairs completely standing on end.
"This is..." A descendant frowned, observing his companion's physiological reaction. "Where exactly is it originating from?"
This particular companion possessed the passive capability to perceive any manifestation of malice, and even carried a powerful ability to pinpoint the exact origin of that malice.
But...
The man retained his arched posture as he sat back down, visibly stunned. He raised his eyes, staring fixedly at the roof of the van.
A long moment later, the descendant snapped back to reality, looking toward his companions. "From the sky..."
"What?"
"The malice is descending directly from the sky. I caught sight of it just now—up in the sky, a massive eye seemed to open, staring down at me with absolute coldness, as if... executing a judgment!"
"..."
Malice descending from the sky? The heavens intended to slaughter them? How could that possibly be.
The eleven descendants traded blank looks.
Seated in the front passenger seat with his arms crossed, a descendant removed his sunglasses, noting coldly, "Our ancestors managed to slaughter the Salem dimension entirely. Even if another dimension emerges, so what? It will merely render our legacy far more glorious!"
In fact... they could potentially far surpass their ancestors. Not only could they sever a dimension, but they could even occupy the vacant territory and seize that dimensional space for themselves.
"Head directly to Lake Pontchartrain," the descendant who was clearly acting as the leader spoke directly to the companion driving. "Regardless of what transpired with the local Dolan Church, do not forget our primary objective this time. The Dolan factions from all across the nation are converging here. Remember our mission: exterminate these damn Salem remnants!"
"Correct!"
"Burn them to ash!"
"Utilize fierce fire to execute judgment upon them!"
A single phrase sufficed to make the other descendants completely disregard their companion's prior warning. Clenching their fists, their fanatical expressions returned as they let out a succession of aggressive roars.
The volume was so immense that George—seated inside the police cruiser driving parallel to them, having just dropped Gwen off and currently heading toward Lake Pontchartrain—frowned intensely as he glanced at the three-meter-long van that sounded as though it were hosting a live concert.
Did the local authorities in New Orleans simply not inspect vehicles for noise violations?
...
The Hilton Hotel.
The entrance.
Gwen looked at the real-time location sent over by Locke, smiled smoothly, and secured her phone. Subsequently, pushing her luggage, she stepped into the interior of the hotel.
At the front desk.
A beautiful blonde receptionist watched Gwen enter through the revolving doors, a hint of admiration flashing across her eyes.
Was the quality of guests checking in lately truly this exceptional? It seemed the only individual capable of competing with this lady's appearance was the woman who had checked into the Presidential Suite, Room 3808, a few days prior.
While the blonde receptionist was thinking as much, Gwen pushed her luggage over. "Hello."
The receptionist snapped back to reality. "Hello, ma'am. Do you require check-in assistance?"
Gwen waved her hand smoothly. "No, actually, I am here to locate someone."
The receptionist offered a polite smile. "Of course. May I have the name?"
"Locke Broughton."
"..." The receptionist blanked slightly, before turning her gaze to the computer screen. Operating the system for a moment, she confirmed that the individual had indeed checked into Room 3808. She raised her head and noted.
"Mr. Broughton's room is number 3808."
Gwen noted, "I'm aware. I wanted to inquire if it might be possible to provide me with a room key?"
Hearing this request, the receptionist hesitated. "This... I am afraid..."
"I'm his girlfriend."
"Oh?"
Gwen pondered briefly, before drawing out the joint bank account documentation she shared with Locke from her bag, presenting it alongside her driver's license to the receptionist.
She explained her desire to deliver a grand surprise to her boyfriend, before clasping her hands together, looking at the receptionist with an earnest expression.
"I departed from home at four in the morning and waited at the airport for a long time before boarding the plane. It wasn't easy traveling all the way here. If you call him directly, my surprise will be completely ruined."
The receptionist examined the joint bank account documentation, glanced at Gwen's driver's license, and listened to Gwen's explanation. She pursed her lips slightly. "Very well, Ms. Stacy. One moment, please."
Gwen was absolutely overjoyed. "Thank you so much!"
The receptionist smiled smoothly. Good grief. It turned out the handsome man in 3808 was a scumbag after all. She had always known wealthy men were inherently unfaithful—especially a man willing to spend two thousand dollars a night on a room.
He clearly possessed such a beautiful, gentle girlfriend, yet he had brought an entirely different girl along to stay at the hotel.
Her own boyfriend was far superior. Thinking of her boyfriend who stayed at home all day practicing boxing, whose financial situation was so tight it required her to work eight separate jobs just to barely sustain their expenses, warmth bloomed within her heart.
A brief moment later, the receptionist generated a temporary keycard for Room 3808, extending it toward Gwen. "Ms. Stacy."
Gwen accepted the keycard, looking at the receptionist with a hint of excitement. Glancing at her nametag, she flashed a massive smile. "Thank you... Dee! My name is Gwen!"
The woman named Dee shook hands, smiling smoothly. "Dee!"
Gwen secured the keycard, exchanged contact information with her newly made friend, and subsequently pushed her luggage toward the elevator bank.
Prior to arriving, Gwen's primary concern had been that the hotel management might refuse to cooperate, given that this was a five-star establishment with exceptionally stringent security protocols.
Fortunately... she had succeeded.
Very swiftly. The thirty-eighth floor.
*Ding!*
"3808!"
Gwen stepped out from the elevator cabin, observing the directional arrows along the wall as she located the room Locke occupied. Her eyes lit up as she tracked the indicator, turning directly to the left.
This was the place.
Gwen came to a halt right before the entrance of Room 3808, an excited smile dancing across her face as she envisioned the exact expression Locke would make when he opened the door. She prepared to knock.
Instantly.
The exact moment Gwen raised her hand to place the keycard against the electronic lock, the transparent downy hairs across her wrist suddenly bristled, standing perfectly erect once more—shifting instantly from a flat state into a rigid vertical posture.
"What is the meaning of this?"
The door clicked open.
Gwen stared at the bristling hairs across her wrist, before raising her head to look into the interior of the room.
Right onto the living room sofa.
Directly at the sight of Locke embracing Carrie tightly.
She was thoroughly dumbfounded!
***
Bonus chappy, next one at 400 stones
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