The pain piercing through his back and into his chest nearly robbed the boy of consciousness—he felt as if his spine had shattered. Without looking, he knew his shoulders and arms were probably a mess of blood and torn flesh; under that kind of speed, the coarse stone bricks became razors. It wasn't until he saw the white figure with the golden mask—until that figure walked up to him—that he felt the full weight of danger pressing down.
"Look at this face. Do you remember anything?" the man asked coldly, removing the mask. But the boy could only let out a bitter laugh, the stabbing pain in his arms and back threatening to engulf his entire mind. Even as he caught his breath, the pain still had him teetering on the edge of consciousness. Yet despite knowing this man could kill him, despite being completely powerless to resist, the boy maintained his usual flippant attitude.
"To be honest, man, why would you wear such an ugly mask?" he sighed.
His clothes were soaked in blood—not just his own, but the searing blood of the angels that now coated the Bridge to Heaven. Unexpectedly, as the angel blood evaporated, the pain in his back began to ease. He didn't know why, but instinctively shifted back a little, hoping to lessen the agony.
"No matter how much you deny it, you must pay for your sins." The man emotionlessly replaced his mask. He extended a hand behind him, and the golden spear that had skewered the motorcycle materialized in his grip. He pointed the tip directly at the boy's throat. Even though his face was hidden, the cold hate emanating from him made the boy's entire body go rigid. He could feel the killing intent, but had no idea why.
"You can't escape. Not even in this era."
"What the hell are you talking about, man?" the boy sneered. "Did you overdose at a costume party or something?"
"Little one!" Bayonetta had been keeping an eye on things below and noticed the boy's predicament immediately. A massive purple-blue hand emerged from a portal, swatting away the angels surrounding her. Then Madame Butterfly herself leaned halfway through the gateway and hurled a punch toward the masked sage.
But a similarly massive fist materialized out of thin air and intercepted the blow with a resounding crack that rang through the sky. The boy had to cover his ears. Madame Butterfly growled in frustration, then turned her gaze to the one who had interfered—a deformed monstrosity: the Four-Virtues Angel of Wind, Temperance. As it fully emerged from the summoning circle, gale-force winds shot from the ends of its grotesque limbs, strong enough to lift even the crumbling remnants of the Bridge to Heaven into the sky. Lighter objects were scattered—including the androids and assault gunships.
Temperance's absurdly small head was embedded in the center of its figure-eight torso, its lifeless gaze fixed on Madame Butterfly.
It spoke in a voice so deep it was nearly incomprehensible.
Madame Butterfly laughed and accepted the challenge.
"Picking on kids isn't very sexy," Bayonetta said, stepping in front of the boy, her guns trained on the masked sage. "I don't know what your deal is, but this isn't the time. No woman likes a man who's too eager."
"This is your final warning. This has nothing to do with you." The masked sage's voice rumbled like a volcano on the verge of erupting. "Move aside, witch. Or I'll kill you too. No one can stand in my way!"
"Sorry, darling," Bayonetta smirked. "This little one's still useful to me. He can't die yet."
The witch and the sage, wielding identical styles of magic and combat, were evenly matched. But angels were still pouring out of summoning circles, and while Madame Butterfly wrestled with Temperance, she also had to fend off other upper-tier angels. Even with her overwhelming strength, the sheer number of foes began to take a toll. The battle mirrored the chaos that once consumed Noahdun—but now it was taking place atop a collapsing bridge. And when Madame Butterfly slammed Temperance into the remaining support pillars, the already-unstable Bridge to Heaven shook violently. The collapse didn't need further sabotage—it continued on its own.
Bayonetta sprang into the air, black-violet wings unfurling. She grabbed the boy by the collar and lifted him off the crumbling bridge. When the sage struck with his spear, she barely managed to parry with her twin blades. The assault gunship and android reinforcements had been blown far away by Temperance's winds and were unable to return. The upper-tier angels had surrounded Solomon, and no one else could help her now.
"You—!" Bayonetta's sword clipped the edge of the sage's mask. His eyes were the exact same gray as hers. But what caught her attention was not his face—it was the small brass cylinder that had slipped from his robe. Clutched tightly against his chest, it was something the witch instantly recognized.
After trading only a few blows, Bayonetta was struck down like a hammer to an anvil. She plummeted from the bridge, her wings unable to counteract the force of the sage's assault. The boy was pulled down with her.
As Bayonetta lost consciousness, her summoning of Madame Butterfly began to falter. Though Temperance was covered in wounds, Madame Butterfly started to dissolve into strands of black hair. She roared in fury, but the dissolution was inevitable—the laws of summoning and interplanar resistance were absolute unless Bayonetta offered her power again.
The masked sage swung his spear and commanded the angels to give chase.
And then—a streak of golden light like a comet tore through the sky, followed by a shrill, deafening roar. It crashed into the shattered remnants of the bridge with immense force. The stone exploded beneath armored boots, and the air distorted from the heat of jet engines.
A golden giant landed, sword in hand, flames erupting around him. With technology as his wings and magic as his weapon, he looked more divine than the angels themselves.
Solomon attacked the moment he hit the ground.
Unlike Bayonetta's graceful combat style, the Arcanist was like a high-speed train slamming through everything in its path. The masked sage, having once fought him before, instantly realized something had changed. Solomon's power had increased exponentially—his furious gaze nearly burned through the crimson lenses of his golden eagle helmet.
He radiated so much presence that even the mountain-sized angels seemed small beside him.
Silent. Cold. He was unrelenting. The sage instinctively raised the spear to defend, but the air itself screamed as Solomon's holy sword slashed downward. It ignited with blinding light, burning like a meteor crashing from orbit, its heat flooding the space like a tsunami.
The spear was sliced in half before the sage could react.
The sheer force of the blow sent the sage flying from the bridge—falling into the void below.
Solomon jumped after him without a word.
(End of Chapter)
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