The boy crashed hard into the water, the violent impact nearly knocking him unconscious. Gritting his teeth through the pain in his back, he flailed with both arms and legs until a hand yanked him out. When he finally steadied himself and caught his breath, he saw Bayonetta already standing on the shore. Looking around, he realized they had fallen into a strange structure. The pool he'd landed in was surrounded by dark, ancient archways and rows of elegant Ionic columns supporting a beautifully vaulted ceiling. Relief carvings covered every inch of the walls. He and Bayonetta had fallen through a distant break in the dome above them. Yet the boy hadn't noticed how high they'd fallen—or questioned why the fall hadn't turned him into a bloody pulp.
What he did notice, however, was that his previous wounds—scrapes on his arms and back—had nearly healed.
"That was a hell of a ride, huh?" the boy joked. "Where are we?"
"I'm pretty sure we're farther than where we started," Bayonetta replied, hands on her hips as she looked up.
Even though Solomon and the Sisterhood had taken out most of the angels, a number still pursued them during their fall. Bayonetta had fought off a few just before tumbling into this place. She recalled what Solomon had said—this place had once been ruled by the witches and sages. The Ionic columns, delicate and graceful, were often used in Greek temples dedicated to female deities due to their noble, refined aesthetic. The architecture was familiar. If she was right, this place was connected to her kind. The witches once lived among such columns. And since the path down from the Bridge to Heaven led directly to the Gates of Hell, it wasn't hard to believe that the witches had once built a structure to monitor it.
She already had a good idea of what was down here.
"I've seen this place before," the boy muttered, dragging himself to his feet, his face twisting again as another surge of head pain hit. He was used to it now, even when it felt like his eyeballs were going to pop from his skull. Bayonetta gave him a questioning look, but he simply shook his head. "Bayonetta, if you're so eager to get to hell, I might know a shortcut."
"Oh?" she adjusted her glasses.
Her mind was still on what had happened above the dome. She knew what Solomon would think upon seeing her fall—but she didn't want him to go all out just yet. There was still too much she needed to uncover. For instance, why did that sage have the lipstick her mother had given her? Did it mean...?
Bayonetta took a quiet breath and forced the thought away.
The boy nodded seriously. "I've started to remember... who I really am. See that stone platform over there?" He pointed to a strange, out-of-place slab across the water. Unlike the curved edge of the pool, it was rectangular and covered in dizzying symbols. Bayonetta followed his gaze. Instantly, she recognized the Enochian inscriptions. Enochian was the witches' second language, essential in spells, combat, and every subject taught to their kind—magic, alchemy, hand-to-hand combat, medicine, etiquette, literature, history, even the arts of pleasure. Bayonetta had excelled in all of them. Only Jeanne could rival her.
"Mmhmm~," Bayonetta nodded. She didn't need him to point it out—she already knew what the platform was for. But she said nothing, both to spare his pride and to see what else he might remember.
"Activate it, and we can jump straight to the Gates of Hell beneath Mount Fimbulwinter," the boy said. "But don't get excited too quickly. It's not going to be an easy ride. By the way, shouldn't you be out looking for your boyfriend?"
"I don't believe anyone could be a match for him, little one." Bayonetta laughed, showing no trace of worry. "We're here for one purpose. I'm sure he'd agree to let me go ahead."
In the terminology of the Abrahamic religions, "God" didn't refer solely to a singular deity. It also encompassed divine attendants and ranks of angels. This usage appeared in religious texts—for example, the name "Israel" in the Old Testament meant "He who wrestles with God," but Jacob had actually wrestled with an angel. In his time, the masked sage had been known as "One who nears God," a title meaning he possessed the power to stand against angels. But not just any angel. To earn that name, he had to face the Four-Virtues angels—the highest class—without even summoning assistance.
Yet now, this powerful sage was finding it harder and harder to fend off the Arcanist before him.
In close combat, he had no time to summon angels. Half the spells of the World Watchers were unusable. Moreover, when he cast bloodline magic like Swift Lightflow, he was shocked to find that the Arcanist could match his speed. The faster he moved, the faster Solomon responded. Solomon's holy sword moved like lightning—not metaphorically, but literally. It burned the air so violently that it produced deafening sonic booms. Though the sage wielded two broken spears, dual wielding actually provided less speed than a single-handed weapon. He had no chance to counterattack.
And when he blocked, the sheer force nearly shattered his arms.
Even when he tried to parry with one spear and stab with the other, the defense systems—made from the Fifth Daemon Pillar's servos, the magical plates forged by the dwarves of Niflheim, and Solomon's own protective spells—absorbed the blow without issue. The golden spear, studded with jewels, scraped harmlessly against some smooth surface and slipped off. Even if the tip pierced the outermost magical layer, a flare of sparks and runes would block any weapon from reaching Solomon's body—as if trying to stir an entire swamp with a twig.
All the sage could do was lift his broken spear again and again, only to be hammered back down.
By the third midair clash between the two, the sage's descent had accelerated to terrifying levels. As he dropped past Solomon's pauldron, the last thing he saw was the golden mist of vaporized angels still spiraling in pursuit behind him.
Then, both of them slammed into the base of Mount Fimbulwinter—buried beneath boulders and earth.
The assault gunship plunged into the canyon, its attack wings and weapon mounts firing at full capacity. The remaining battle-ready members of the Sisterhood clung to the wings, clearing out any low-tier angels attempting to breach the cockpit. The shadow of Mount Fimbulwinter now completely enveloped them. Even the gunship's floodlights couldn't pierce the freezing darkness. Their only beacon was the rapidly falling golden spear flashing ahead of them.
They were following Catherine.
(End of Chapter)
[Get +20 Extra Chapters On — P@tr3on "Mutter"]
[Every 100 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter Drop]
[Thanks for Reading!]