Chapter 4: The Street Clash Beneath the Perfect Model
"Don't go to Europe…" A gentle, murmuring female voice drifted through Crimsonlyn's dream.
Tiny beads of condensation clung to the cold cabin window. Freak practically threw herself at the pane, her nose pressing flat against the icy glass, her whole face squished against the frame. Her eyes sparkled with pure, almost manic excitement, like a child seeing a toy shop window for the first time. "Wow—look at those clouds! They're like God's spilled paint palette, what a waste!" Her slender fingers unconsciously scratched at the air.
Outside, a vast expanse of fluffy cumulus began to warp. Its edges were kneaded and pulled by an unseen force, soft light and shadows forcibly twisted and重组. Within seconds, suspended ten thousand meters high, the Mona Lisa with its eternal, enigmatic smile—composed entirely of clouds—hung starkly against the blue sky! Massive and unreal.
"Phew! How beautiful! This is the true posture of art!" Freak clapped her hands in ecstasy, her body trembling with excitement.
BAM!
A dull thud echoed as Nightbloom's fist slammed onto the metal tray table! The sturdy surface instantly dented, a clear, sharply-edged fist impression left behind.
"Crazy woman!" Nightbloom hissed, her voice laced with a strong warning, irritation burning in her demonic pupils. The black-scaled wings folded behind her rustled uneasily, the hard scales scraping against each other, emitting a subtle yet piercing metallic rasp. "Didn't I tell you not to use your powers in public?! You trying to make us more conspicuous?!" Her bristling tail swept across the floor irritably, the tips of its tough scales leaving a few almost imperceptible deep scratches. A dangerous scent, a mix of sulfur and rust, faintly diffused.
Crimsonlyn sat quietly in the aisle seat, as if a barrier separated her from the surrounding clamor. She tilted her head slightly, her amber eyes lowered. At her fingertips, a nearly invisible silver thread, like a sentient living creature, vibrated with the slightest tremor, extending silently. This thread-sense pierced through Freak's power fluctuations and Nightbloom's anger, scanning for deeper, more subtle rhythms—the steady vibration of the engines, the heartbeat frequencies of passengers, the delicate turbulence caused by the wings slicing through the high-altitude air. She was on alert.
Stepping onto foreign soil, the Avenue des Champs-Élysées unfurled with an almost rigid perfection. It was clean, like a colossal model wiped down daily, polished smooth without a single speck of dust. Sunlight fell evenly on the beige sandstone, reflecting a light that was soft yet devoid of warmth. The shadows cast by the roadside plane trees were sharp as if cut by a knife. The air was a mix of fine perfume, coffee beans, and exhaust fumes—the refined, orderly, yet… lifeless essence of a metropolis.
Freak was instantly drawn to a bright red vintage postbox by the roadside. "Aha! 'The Abstract Elegy of a Forgotten Messenger'!" Fire ignited in her eyes, her fingers lifting as an unseen power began to gather.
"Freak!" Nightbloom's irritable voice cut through the air, and at the same time, her agile, jet-black tail lashed out like lightning, wrapping around Freak's wrist and yanking her back. "Find a place to stay first! No more side shows!" Nightbloom shook out her wings, their cold, steely sheen rippling in the sunlight. She scanned the overly pristine street anxiously, feeling that within those gleaming shop windows and perfectly manicured hedges, eyes were watching.
Crimsonlyn followed silently. Her amber eyes appeared calm, but the silver threads at her fingertips had already delved deep into the texture of this "perfect model." They penetrated the glossy surface, touched the vibrations under the stone slabs, caught the low rumble of distant subways, and sensed countless faint traces in the air. Suddenly, her "thread-sense" snapped taut! Like a string plucked violently, it transmitted back a fluctuation of immense, cold, precise power, yet seething with violent internal conflict! Pure, efficient killing intent, like the red dot of a sniper scope, locked on with deadly accuracy!
The source—a street corner café terrace!
"Something's there… strong… conflicted! Killing intent!" Crimsonlyn's pupils contracted sharply as she shouted! Her body moved faster than thought—she bent down, grabbed a jagged piece of rubble at her feet, and hurled it with all her might like a deadly throwing knife, straight at the corner radiating the most intense murderousness!
BANG! The deadlock shattered.
The shriek of the stone tearing through air almost merged with another sudden sound!
Just as the stone was about to smash into the shadows, chaos erupted!
From the shadowed corner piled with empty wicker chairs, the air emitted a high-frequency hum! The space to the left fractured like a broken mirror, spewing forth countless cold, translucent "abacus beads"! Guided by an absolutely precise force field, they collided and combined at speeds surpassing human sight! A cacophony of dense, piercing crackles filled the air! In an instant, a massive geometric net of pure energy, its edges gleaming with cold light—like the computational model of a supercomputer—descended upon the three, its killing intent cold enough to freeze the soul!
"Move!" Nightbloom's roar was like thunder! Her crimson pupils contracted to pinpricks, her black-scaled wings behind her exploded open, expanded, and hardened! With a clash of metal, they transformed into two enormous, curved metal shields, thrusting upwards to shield Crimsonlyn and Freak beneath them! The force of it whipped Freak's blue hair into the air.
BOOM—!
The energy net slammed into the scaled shields! A blinding shower of stark white sparks erupted! The concussive blast, condensed into solid form, exploded outwards! The café's wrought iron tables and chairs were twisted and flung away! Cups and glasses shattered into dust with a crisp crash! Nightbloom grunted, her feet plowing deep grooves into the granite pavement like iron ploughs! The taste of rusty-sweet blood rose in her throat.
"Tch!" Nightbloom wiped a smear of dark red blood from her lip, rage burning in her eyes as she glared through the gap in her shields into the shadows. "Who the hell are you?!"
From the shadows, a figure in an expensive, pure black dress suit stood up slowly, like darkness condensed. Left·Cerebral·Hermesfield. Her posture was rigid, possessing an inhuman sense of balance. Her left eye—a dull, lifeless white jade orb—was devoid of all emotion, locking onto the three with surgical precision. Her right hand moved at superhuman speed, tracing patterns in the air, controlling the dispersed abacus beads.
Yet, a stiffness crept into this precise body! The right half of her body convulsed, jerking backward! Her golden-brown right eye (Right!) burst with countless bloodshot threads deep within its pupil, the iris trembling violently, transmitting a feeling of resistance, warning, and despair!
Just as the abacus beads were about to reform—
In Left's icy blue vision, the target images warped violently! Nightbloom's protective wings exploded! Crimsonlyn's silver threads became fatal nooses, coiling around her own neck like vipers and tightening abruptly! Gears from Freak's skirt materialized deep in her throat, spinning and expanding, smelling of rust and machine oil, choking her airways!
A wave of intense sensory assault! Suffocation! Cutting! Piercing! Right was turning mental illusions into genuine neural shocks! Left's body stiffened, a muffled grunt escaping her, her left hand's precise control instantly distorting, lagging! The abacus bead matrix in mid-air let out a piercing, grinding shriek, trembling chaotically, on the verge of collapse!
"Elimination… order… being… disrupted!" The icy voice wavered and stalled for the first time, her left eye's aperture rapidly zooming in and out.
"Is this your hospitality?!" Nightbloom seized on this fatal delay! With a roar, she thrust her protective shields apart, dispersing the remaining energy! Simultaneously, the lower part of her left foot emitted a series of dense cracks, instantly transforming into a thick, barbed, jet-black bone whip. It tore through the air with a terrifying shriek, lashing viciously at the shadows!
WHOOSH—BANG!
The bone whip swept through, cutting through the granite like tofu, exploding stone fragments and dust! Left instinctively dodged, but the neural shock and system disorder made her a fraction of a second too slow! The sharp tip of the whip ripped through her expensive dress skirt, revealing a singed petticoat beneath!
Struggling to stabilize her matrix, Left's left eye blazed with icy blue light. The trembling abacus beads instantly coalesced into three even more condensed, high-speed rotating cones, their tips gleaming with a drilling, penetrating cold light! Their lethal intent locked onto Nightbloom's head, heart, and core!
"Nightbloom! Move left half a meter! Guard your chest!" Crimsonlyn's urgent shout cut through. Her silver threads, already spread wide, had clearly "captured" the deadly serpentine wobble affecting the middle cone, caused by the lingering phantoms and Right's interference!
Absolute trust! Nightbloom sidestepped left, simultaneously shielding her chest with her hardened wings pressed tightly against it!
WHOOSH! WHOOSH! WHOOSH!
Three beams of deadly light! The first two grazed past her hair and wingtips, silently burying themselves deep into the building behind. The third, the fatal blow aimed at her core, followed the serpentine path Crimsonlyn had predicted. Thanks to Right's last-ditch mental interference (forcing an "upward" shift), its trajectory veered a miraculous three centimeters upward at the final moment!
BANG! CRACK!
The deviation was a matter of life and death! The energy cone slammed viciously into the base of her wing! A piercing screech of metal grinding and shattering rang out! Nightbloom was hammered back like by a giant mallet, sliding again. The scales at the wing root, struck by the blow, shattered and peeled away in large patches, revealing the densely packed, glimmering secondary scales beneath, from which oozed a few traces of pale blue viscous fluid, filling the air with the smell of sulfur and metal. The searing pain made her brow furrow, the fire in her crimson eyes burning even brighter.
"My turn! 'The Street Concerto of Arrogant Abacus and Mourning Prism'! Conflict! Struggle! Perfect!" Freak's voice rang out, filled with the excitement of discovering a treasure, as she slammed both hands onto the stone pavement!
HUM—!
Her warping power activated! The hard granite beneath Left's feet instantly softened and deformed! It turned into a thick, flowing, dark substance! This mass surged upward, rolling wildly, and wrapped itself around her ankles and calves with chaotic, disordered intent! This sudden material change instantly dismantled her precise calculation of her body's center of gravity!
"?!" A flicker of genuine surprise crossed Left's cold face for the first time. Balance was lost instantly! In her mind, Right unleashed an overwhelming will to escape, crashing against her final vestiges of control like a tsunami!
"Ugh!" The viscous matter tightened around her ankles, and Left stumbled, falling! Her golden-brown right eye was now completely bloodshot, its capillaries bursting one after another!
She pressed her throbbing temples, her scream tearing through the air: "Right—!"
A deep blue liquid, thick as tears yet thicker than blood, gushed wildly from her bloodshot right eye! Her figure, amidst violently warping spatial ripples, flickered and dissolved like a faulty video signal, ultimately vanishing entirely into the turbulent chaos!
Only the ravaged street corner remained: twisted fragments of tables and chairs, glistening shards of glass, a puddle of warped, malodorous residue, and a few drops of deep blue liquid spattered on the clean stone slabs—like ink, like blood, like solidified sorrow.
"Gone?" Nightbloom retracted her transformed foot and shield-wings, breathing raggedly, staring at the empty street corner. Her tail thumped the ground irritably, scales scraping against the stone chips.
Crimsonlyn silently retracted the silver threads spread all around. Her face was grim, the depths of her amber eyes reflecting that puddle of deep blue liquid. "It was Right…" Her voice was low, certain. "She was desperately interfering with Left, helping us… and helping herself." She could feel the despair and struggle contained within that interference.
Freak, however, acted as if she'd discovered a rare treasure. Carefully, she used her sketch brush to dab at the deep blue liquid on the ground. The liquid quickly lost its fluidity on the brush tip, solidifying into a small, deep blue, semi-transparent "prism shard," with what seemed like light swirling inside. Admiring her "trophy," she walked over to Nightbloom and gently pressed the shard onto the edge of the scales at her injured wing root. "Here, a souvenir. A shard of 'The Fleeing Executor's Tears', such great source material!"
"Don't touch the wound!" Nightbloom frowned, speaking low. Her tail, instinctively flicking in irritation, tried to dodge Freak's hand, but its tip happened to brush against the edge of the newly attached shard—
HUM!
A tremor, cold and intense, originating from the very marrow of her bones, swept through Nightbloom and Crimsonlyn without warning! It was like a high-voltage current piercing through their limbs and bodies, striking their brains directly! Both women stiffened, their vision going dark, a tearing, splitting pain exploding deep in their minds!
Three seconds. Absolute silence. Time seemed to freeze.
They slumped weakly, panting heavily, cold sweat beading on their temples, their faces pale.
Nightbloom's wings trembled uncontrollably, her demonic pupils filled with shock and uncertainty, as if still reeling from the terrifying image that had just flashed before them. "Just now… I saw… us fighting? On that church spire?" Her voice was laced with an almost imperceptible hoarseness.
Crimsonlyn clenched her fists, her knuckles white, a wave of icy cold rising from her spine and spreading through her limbs. In the depths of her amber eyes reflected the chilling image of a military knife plunging into flesh. Her voice was dry as she spoke: "Before we lost our memories… were we… comrades… or… mortal enemies?" The question weighed heavily on her heart.
Freak, however, raised her eyebrows excitedly, her eyes dazzlingly bright, as if glimpsing a secret of the universe. She pointed at the deep blue shard on Nightbloom's wing root, now faintly warm and seemingly resonating with her flesh. "Look! They're resonating! Can you feel it? Memory fragments, residual energy… Isn't it through touching these 'keys' that you two, with your amnesia, can slowly pry open those locked doors?" Her smile held an artist's unique, almost cruel curiosity.