"So you finally dare to face me. This is not your world. You don't belong here," the indistinct voice said.
The boy's headache struck again—this time, no one saw it coming.
Solomon suddenly felt entirely justified in treating this boy as a ticking time bomb. His headaches weren't just memory flashes anymore—they were starting to affect reality itself. Up until now, both Bayonetta and Solomon had assumed the boy's headaches were just signs of recovering memories—essentially acting like a projector, with others able to "watch the film" as well. Solomon had even mocked this "projector" function, treating it as a joke. But no one had expected the projections to interact with the real world.
"What was once one must be whole again. You must be destroyed!"
In the blurry projection appeared a boy who looked exactly like him. Aside from the boy himself, neither the Arcanist nor the witch could understand the voice's words. The boy in the image merely waved his hand, and the real boy in the material world was suddenly flung through the air as if punched. This wasn't just a memory—this was an attack.
They both opened fire on the projection, while rushing to rescue the boy, who had been flung from the motorcycle and nearly hurled off the Bridge to Heaven.
"What the hell is going on?" Now the journey was completely halted—no one could move forward until they figured this out. But the boy, hauled up by the collar by Solomon, looked just as confused. He had no idea why this memory had become violent. "Why would your memory attack you? What exactly did you remember?"
"I…" The boy clutched his head, dizzy and in agony. He clearly couldn't piece his memories together just yet. Solomon didn't dare cast a mind-reading spell on him either. That sort of spell required a quiet, stable environment, and a completely unguarded subject. Otherwise, a miscast could fry the nervous system and leave the target permanently brain-damaged.
He wanted memories—not a prefrontal lobotomy.
They were currently at the midpoint of the Bridge to Heaven, where the slope was steep. Without the motorcycle's powerful engine, climbing the multi-kilometer incline would've been impossible. The bridge was suspended incredibly high above the ground. If Solomon hadn't reacted quickly, the boy would've been splattered across the rocks below. He gave the boy's forehead a light flick, trying to snap him out of it.
"Need some meds?"
"Careful," the witch said softly. "Have you forgotten what I was like back then? This isn't simple. I don't think he'll remember anything clearly until we reach the destination. Let's just take it step by step—this road's long."
"Damn it. Since we got here, we haven't had one peaceful moment!" Solomon muttered and hoisted the boy back onto the rear seat of the bike. Bayonetta suddenly turned her head, as if listening to something. Solomon, without a word, drew his holy sword—startling the boy and making Bayonetta think he was about to strike.
But the Arcanist merely raised the blade and pointed it skyward. Bayonetta understood immediately. She revved the engine and surged toward Mount Fimbulwinter.
"What's happening?" the boy asked, still lost.
He found out soon enough.
Solomon and Bayonetta had both wondered why no more enemies had come after the Thrones. Now they knew—the angels had been gathering, planning to overwhelm the trio by sheer numbers right there on the bridge. Bayonetta's motorcycle screamed across the stone, and with a quick switch, the twin plasma cannons melted two freshly emerged centaur-type lower archangels as they stepped through a portal. Solomon jumped off the bike, his jetpack flaring, smashing aside angelic remains to clear a path for Bayonetta.
Those lower archangels were just the appetizers. Ahead, both sky and ground were crammed with portals.
Solomon said a few short words to Bayonetta and launched himself toward the largest figure in the sky. It was an upper-level cherubim angel wielding a golden greatsword, its face embedded in its crossguard—he'd slain one just like it in New York.
At that moment, a missile streaked through the air, trailing white smoke, and struck the largest angel dead-on. The resulting explosion lit up the sky with violent fire and deafening thunder. An assault transport roared overhead, its engines screaming. Angels tried to intercept it, but those that got in the way were crushed beneath its armor-plated hull.
Catherine, in the co-pilot seat, was practically dancing with excitement, dying to leap out and smack a few angels herself.
The assault gunship's underslung heavy explosive machine guns opened fire at full capacity, tearing through ranks of lower angels like cavalry smashing into an infantry phalanx. When even that wasn't enough, the artillery cannon mounted on top fired high-velocity explosive shells directly into the path of stronger angels. Bayonetta burst through the smoke and flames caused by the missile strike, racing toward the summit of Mount Fimbulwinter.
Solomon, wielding his holy sword, became a meteor of death, jet propulsion accelerating him to terrifying speeds. The G-forces from his maneuvering would've made any normal person pass out.
Few angels could withstand his onslaught. If they weren't carved apart by the holy sword, they were shattered by crushing blows from his shoulder plates or knees. Even the massive cherubim couldn't survive the assault, impaled straight through after being battered by Kamar-Taj's finest technology.
But even with the support of assault gunships and Solomon's strength, the angels just kept coming. Many diverted their focus toward Bayonetta and the boy.
"Hang on, little one!" the witch shouted. She pulled up the front wheel, leapt, and stood atop the bike's handlebars, turning to face the angels in pursuit. The wind howled past the boy's ears. He clung to the seat for dear life.
"Why are there so many angels?!" the boy cried, only to get a mouthful of cold wind. "How many more are there?!"
"Doesn't matter. We'll kill them all!"
Bayonetta drew her pistols. The first silver bullet left only a dent in the angel's armor—but the next struck the exact same spot. And then another. Like a chisel hammering the same point, the rounds finally broke through, bursting the angel into a cloud of blood and white feathers. She rose onto her toes, body fluid and graceful, dancing through the air with the slicing wings of angels as her ballroom partners.
"Let's dance! Until death do us part!"
The android pilot of the assault transport weaved through the angelic formation, slamming through enemy lines with savage precision. The corpses of lower angels and pieces of stronger ones rained from the sky, filling the heavens with crimson-feathered snowfall. "Open the ramp!" Catherine called, triggering the squad to launch their steel-wing propulsion systems. She tapped her toes excitedly—her armored boots clanging on the metal floor—as she tightened her grip on her longsword's hilt, itching to flip the ignition on her power blade.
"Sisters—it's slaughter time!"
(End of Chapter)
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