Solomon immediately recognized the connection between the self-proclaimed Prophet and the boy.
The boy had two symmetrical triangular marks on his forehead, while the Prophet had a single diamond shape formed by the fusion of two triangles. The device at the waterfall chapel bore the same pair of triangle marks, and here, the mosaic tiles on the ground featured the same diamond-shaped pattern—albeit too old and damaged to activate. Furthermore, the Prophet shared the boy's exact hair and eye color.
So when the boy claimed to have remembered who he was, Solomon had already deduced his identity. But neither the boy nor the Arcanist had time to discuss the paradoxes of time, nor did they have the luxury of critiquing the Prophet's absolutely atrocious fashion sense—though that alone was probably why the boy avoided the topic.
Following the boy's lead, Solomon threw him into a portal embedded on the ruins of a floating building suspended in the vast violet cloud sea. Then he stood at the portal's entrance, waiting for Bayonetta. Only once the witch stepped through did he dive in as well. The masked Sage and the Prophet followed close behind, unwilling to let the boy escape their sight.
The Prophet eagerly stepped into the portal—and was immediately met with a blast of blazing plasma.
The star-like temperatures slammed directly into his face—or, more precisely, into the defensive ward hovering just in front of his skin. His reaction had been fast, but not fast enough. By the time he reopened his nearly scorched eyes, that damned Arcanist from Kamar-Taj had already moved through the next portal. The plasma weapon, still glowing hot, now hung from his thigh.
This weapon hadn't existed a moment ago. Clearly, it had been summoned by magic.
And that bastard had even smiled smugly at him before disappearing!
Furious at being tricked, the Prophet glared in the direction the boy had gone, watching him guide the witch and the Arcanist. That was proof enough—the boy had remembered far more than he was letting on. The Prophet made up his mind: the boy had to be silenced.
"Where did they go?" asked the masked Sage, stepping through a portal.
The Prophet pointed in one direction, choosing to let the Sage go first this time. The Sage's eyes, hidden behind the mask, lingered on him for a moment before silently proceeding. The Prophet followed after, grinning smugly as the Sage barely avoided another plasma trap.
"We can't afford another failure, Sage," the Prophet said. "Or you'll never have your revenge."
The Sage gave no reply and stepped into the next portal.
It was now clear: Solomon wasn't just fleeing—he was laying traps at every portal. From illusion-covered dimensional pits to basic hunting snares made from a string and a grenade, from magically summoned acid pools to improvised landmines crafted from explosive rounds—none were lethal, but all served to slow them down. Even the obscure, "impractical" spells Solomon had learned at the Kamar-Taj library now found their moment to shine. Anything that could delay the Prophet and the Sage was fair game.
He had tried sealing the portals, too, but both the Prophet and the Sage were spellcasters, and the urgency of the situation didn't allow for powerful wards. The seals were easily broken. In some cases, the pair simply turned around and took a different portal, eventually looping around to intercept Solomon and Bayonetta. If the boy hadn't found an alternate path to the Gate of Hell, another clash would have been unavoidable.
The chase ended upon reaching the destination.
"My job's done," the boy shrugged. "I've got other business in Fimbulwinter. Later!"
"Don't even think about leaving, snot-nosed brat," Solomon growled. He grabbed the boy by the shoulder. "We still have to rescue another witch's soul—and only you can deal with the final obstacle. Don't play dumb. You know who you are now. You know what we're facing. The Sage and the Prophet are both after you, and you can't take on either of them."
"Come on, I thought we were done here," the boy rolled his eyes. "I'm confident I can keep myself from being caught."
"That's not good enough," Solomon said firmly. "Whether it's out of adult responsibility or your critical role in all this, I'm not letting you run off. The witch agrees." He glanced at Bayonetta. "Until this Hell situation is resolved, your safety is our problem. There's no room for negotiation, rebellious brat."
Whether due to the chaotic time distortions of the stacked, soap-bubble-like planes or because Solomon's traps had truly bought them enough time, the boy managed to open the lower-plane passage overseen by the witch clan. The Gate of Hell, built from blackened bone, stood upon the ruins of a crumbling structure. Endless, sticky malice licked at anything that approached it like a tongue. As soon as the gate cracked open, a powerful suction roared out from within. The deep purple cloud sea below was drawn toward it, with massive tornadoes spiraling up like tentacles, funneling straight into the gate.
As the gate neared its final closure, the Sage and Prophet emerged from the previous portal—only to see a flash of golden armor disappear into the violet mist. The Prophet didn't even have time to speak before the Sage dove unhesitatingly into the abyss beyond the door, without a single concern for what might lie on the other side.
The sky-carrier and sky battleships slowly passed through a crackling portal, vanishing in a cascade of sparks. To ordinary eyes, the three floating behemoths seemed to become invisible within the blaze. Victoria Hand remained tense—this was her intelligence division's first direct involvement in a major magical operation. Her job was to coordinate the Ten Roses and Golden Lily battleships' recon drones. Everything was proceeding according to Solomon's last instructions.
Dozens of assault transport crafts burst forth from the sky-carrier, packed with armed personnel headed for Mount Fimbulwinter. The Sisterhood and intelligence strike teams would secure strategic points across the mountain, establish anti-air positions, and, together with the battleships, eliminate any extradimensional entity in the area.
Baron Mordo, acting as a military advisor, was also part of the operation.
He wasn't just overseeing the Eternal City's campaign—he was also drafting a report to demonstrate that the city's existence reduced the burden on Kamar-Taj. The goal was to silence the conservative elders who disapproved of Solomon's creation of a worldly institution. This was a direct order from the Sorcerer Supreme, and Mordo took it seriously. He wasn't the only Kamar-Taj representative on the mission. Some Arcanist families closely tied to Solomon had joined in as well. For example, young Master Wang was currently in Noahdun, waiting for tactical nuclear bombers to be mounted.
The Ten Roses fired the first shot—its side batteries vaporized a horde of angels diving down from the summit of Mount Fimbulwinter toward the assault craft. Then the Golden Lily followed, opening fire like a World War II naval battle. Broadside after broadside thundered out, covering the transport crafts as they descended to the mountain's midsection. Those that had already offloaded their troops turned to cut through the angelic swarms, pouring firepower from their gunships to wipe out the enemy.
It was a war between technology and creatures from another dimension.
(End of Chapter)
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