To have a senior deacon lead the team, and one carrying a sacred artifact at that.
Angel breathed a sigh of relief. Now Lanevus should have no escape.
She watched the three Nighthawks carry a strange mirror into the union dormitory and close the door. Then the area around the East Byron Dockyard returned to calm, the airship's propellers also stopped, floating in place relying on the buoyancy of hydrogen.
Only the machine guns on the compartment occasionally moved, indicating that time here had not frozen.
Angel waited patiently for the battle inside the dormitory to conclude, waiting for Lanevus to die under the Sword of the Goddess.
At this moment, she noticed the gas lamps near the dormitory extinguishing one by one from near to far, as if blown out by an expanding wind. Then the mighty airship floating nearby seemed to lose buoyancy and began slowly spiraling downward. The propellers spun frantically, trying to stabilize the airship, but to no avail.
At the center of these anomalies, an extremely fearful and utterly evil aura burst from the dock union dormitory—an aura Angel had sensed several times recently, the aura of the "True Creator"!
This aura swept over the nearly falling airship and surrounded Angel. She felt as if an invisible storm had scraped over her, instantly feeling ice-cold all over, her hands and feet numb. It was like returning to that day in Tingen facing Megose and the evil god's child in her womb, or like the two times she divined about the copper-skinned Lanevus and was counterattacked by the Creator's divinity.
Had the evil god descended again? What about the Red Gloves? What about "The Sword of the Goddess" Cesima?
She gritted her teeth, using her hands to support the railing in front of her to prop up her body, preventing her weak legs from collapsing to the ground, while her eyes stared fixedly at the brick-red building.
Should she rush in and fight with all her might? Perhaps inside the dormitory, Lanevus and the Red Gloves were engaged in fierce confrontation, and she could be the last straw that broke the camel's back.
But would rushing into battle rashly affect the Red Gloves currently fighting?
While hesitating, the evil aura of the True Creator suddenly disappeared, as if He had never come.
The street lamps relit one by one. The airship that had nearly touched ground also stopped its descent, stabilized its attitude, and began slowly ascending.
Was the battle decided?
Angel tremblingly stood steady again, watching the airship float to high altitude, with machine guns and cannons aimed at the brick-red dormitory building, waiting like her for the final result.
She took out the magic mirror from her bosom, breathed on it to polish the mirror surface, then infused spirituality and attempted divination.
"Magic mirror, magic mirror, tell me Cresta Cesima's current state."
Bypassing the divination target that might suffer counterattack, Angel first asked the magic mirror about the other side of the battle.
Inside the brick-red union dormitory, in the first-floor hall, several men in black robes lay scattered on the ground, their bodies riddled with bullet holes, blood pooling around them.
Two men dressed in trench coats and red gloves leaned against the wall, eyes tightly closed, unconscious. Between them sat an ancient-styled mirror, its surface facing upward, reflecting the hall's ceiling.
"The Sword of the Goddess" Cresta Cesima knelt on one knee, his trench coat torn to shreds, the white shirt inside also covered in bloodstains. He used his red-gloved hands to support his body, stretching his neck to look toward the stairway entrance. The silver-white case beside him lay open, its interior empty.
As he gasped for breath, twisted, seemingly screaming faces appeared on the senior deacon's teeth, as if ghosts resided within them.
At the end of his line of sight, a pure white bone sword—that sacred artifact he never left behind—was thrust into the chest and abdomen of Lanevus, who had darker skin and angular facial features. Only the hilt remained visible. A large area of flesh on the latter's chest seemed to have vanished, leaving a void through which one could see the wall behind.
Lanevus stood straight, completely unaffected by this fatal wound. He even wore a smile on his face—his trademark mocking smile.
"You diligent night owls, as expected, didn't disappoint me, just like in Tingen. Although you missed the traces of those mutated animals I deliberately created and overlooked the prostitutes I murdered, you ultimately captured clues during that foolish Rose Bishop's silencing operation, found my residence, and helped me escape the True Creator's influence."
"Thank you, thank you so much. Rest assured, I'm not being sarcastic this time—I'm genuinely thanking you. Look at my sincere eyes!"
He spoke extremely rapidly, his tone carrying sarcasm, his movements exaggerated as he pulled out the pure white bone sword from his chest. With the weapon removed, the wound didn't bleed much. Instead, several wriggling flesh tendrils grew from inside, slowly repairing this front-to-back wound.
"As a token of gratitude, let me send you on your way with this sword," Lanevus waved the bone sword, slowly approaching Cesima with measured steps. "It's a pity I can't keep this weapon, or you'll use it to track me. A weapon that can kill the True Creator's divinity, even just a trace of divinity, must be a high-sequence sealed artifact. Well, that's what you call mystical items, right?"
Like a chatterbox talking to himself, he approached the kneeling Cesima. The latter's eyes flashed with brilliance, and the surrounding space was instantly enveloped in a peaceful atmosphere.
Sensing this tranquility, Lanevus holding the bone sword suddenly felt he should take a good sleep on the hall floor until dawn. His eyelids shared the same thought, becoming heavy and gradually closing.
Just as his eyes were about to close completely, his expression changed. He bit his tongue tip to wake himself up.
"So you still have strength... Hmph."
With a cold snort, he threw the bone sword out. The target wasn't Cesima, whose half-closed eyes were preparing to pull the enemy into a dream, but the unconscious Nighthawk in the corner.
"No!"
Cesima shouted, eyes wide open, waving his hand to use the power he had painstakingly accumulated, guiding the bone sword to deflect to the side, grazing the Nighthawk's body and piercing into the wall.
Taking advantage of this moment, Lanevus quickly freed himself from the dream's influence. He didn't dare try again to kill "The Sword of the Goddess," whose strength was unfathomable. Instead, he turned and quickly went upstairs, climbed out through the stairwell window, landed lightly, and came to the alley behind the dormitory.
Skillfully lifting a manhole cover from the ground, he grasped the ladder with both hands and slid directly down, entering the sewers.
Several Nighthawks had lost combat ability, and it would take several minutes for the airship outside to discover the anomaly. This was his escape window!
"Splash splash splash."
Stepping through shallow sewage, Lanevus with his chest-abdomen wound slowly being repaired by flesh tendrils moved through the sewers as if returning home. He expertly passed one bend after another, occasionally choosing at intersections to circle back slightly and enter another passage, but always moving away from the East Byron Dockyard's position.
Just a few hundred more meters, back to the surface, back to the East End streets, and these foolish Nighthawks won't find me...
He suddenly stopped, standing in the middle of the passage.
A figure appeared in the open area ahead.
In Lanevus's dark vision, the other party unconcernedly removed their hood as if not caring about exposing their identity, revealing a round, featureless young female face. Her black long hair floated without wind, like an avenging ghost.
"Excellent, you're not dead yet."
Her clear voice carried a hint of relief, almost making Lanevus think she had come to help him.
"Someone actually ambushed here. I was wondering why I smelled blood from so far away."
Looking back toward the direction of the East Byron Dockyard, he took a deep breath and began conversing as if facing an old friend.
"Is it possible that the smell comes from your own hands, covered in innocent people's blood?"
The mysterious woman approached step by step, leisurely drawing the dagger from her back. Her fingers rapidly slid across the blade's spine, igniting a wisp of black flame, making the short dagger like a torch, dancing in her nimble hands.
"Innocent people? Who?" Lanevus retreated step by step, his gaze beginning to search for other escape routes, while his mouth taunted her. "Sorry, there are too many—I can't remember them all."
"No matter. I'll help you remember."
Contrary to his expectations, the other party wasn't angered by his verbal attack. That featureless, expressionless round face even showed a slight smile.