Chapter 50: The Witchification of Kogoro!
In the ruins of the shelter, the last dregs of Kogoro Mouri's magic, along with his shattered soul, erupted in a final, cataclysmic burst!
It was not an attack.
It was the creation of an eternal prison.
The Soul Gem on his chest utterly disintegrated!
BOOM—!!!!
Countless bolts of pitch-black, solidified lightning spewed forth from the gem's fractured core, carrying a ferocious power that could tear anything apart as they shot out indiscriminately in all directions.
CRACK—!!!
With a final, piercing shatter, the Soul Gem and its metal setting completely crumbled.
Kogoro Mouri's body went rigid and fell backward, all signs of life extinguished.
In the air, the shards of his Soul Gem, stained with infinite despair, rapidly converged and fused! In a flash, they transformed into a jet-black Grief Seed.
This newly formed Grief Seed began to expand at a visible, terrifying rate. The energy contained within it grew more horrifying, more unstable with each passing moment!
BOOM—!
A powerful shockwave exploded outward from the Grief Seed. The nearest members of the Organization were caught off guard and sent flying, crashing violently into the rubble.
Immediately after, space itself seemed to tear apart.
Thick bolts of black lightning descended from the twisted void like a torrential downpour, striking the ground and incinerating debris and corpses into charred remains.
The Grief Seed's energy reached its apex. It pulsed violently, destructive black light seeping from the cracks on its surface.
RUMMMMMBLE—!!!!
A colossal storm of black energy, powerful enough to sweep everything away, detonated with the Grief Seed at its epicenter. The surrounding space warped and twisted violently under the horrific pressure, rippling like the surface of water after a stone has been thrown in.
Kogoro Mouri's lifeless body was effortlessly tossed by the blast into the unknown depths of the distorted space.
But the storm of black energy did not dissipate. Instead, it stabilized in a bizarre fashion, merging with the warped space to rapidly expand and solidify.
By the time Gin, Vodka, and the others who had been blasted back by the shockwave and lightning regained their footing, and by the time Akai, Amuro, and everyone else caught in the spatial distortion recovered their senses, they discovered to their horror that they had been dragged into a bizarre maze.
They were in the Witch's Labyrinth, created by the man who was once Kogoro Mouri.
All around them were endless, identical wooden doors. Faded plaques hung on each one: "Mouri Detective Agency." The words flickered in and out of view. A dim, yellow light seeped from beneath the doors, and one could faintly hear the clack-clack-clack of an old typewriter, the shuffling of mahjong tiles, and the drunken, slurred mumbling of a man.
The air was thick with the acrid smoke of cheap cigarettes, mixed with the sickeningly sour reek of stale whiskey and day-old coffee.
There was no solid ground beneath their feet. There was only a sprawling, layered mess of losing horse-racing tickets, empty beer cans, unfinished case reports, and stained evidence bags. Walking on it was treacherous; it was easy to misstep or be tripped.
Walls? There were no walls. Only mountains of old, dusty case files, constantly shifting and sliding down. The handwriting on them was sloppy and chaotic, recording countless trivial matters, failed deductions, and the long-forgotten names of clients.
Gin's face was grim. He raised his hand and fired a magic bullet. The wall of files exploded, but the blast only sent more chaotic files flying out, along with "clue" arrows pointing in wrong directions. They instantly filled the gap and even surged back toward him.
"Dammit!" Vodka threw a punch, but his power felt like it was hitting cotton, the force dissipated by the constantly shifting space and its logical traps.
Even Akai's brow was furrowed in frustration. He found that the trajectory of his bullets was being warped by an unseen force, sometimes even ricocheting back at him from bizarre angles. Even Amuro could find no viable way to break through the chaos, forced to passively react to the nonsensical attacks coming from every direction.
Even worse were the Familiars.
They were short, hunched-over shadows in shabby trench coats. Their faces were indistinct blurs, and they brandished magnifying glasses or smoking pipes. They emerged without warning from the piles of files, from behind doors, and from the ceiling.
They would stretch out their crooked fingers, pointing at everyone trapped within the Labyrinth, and utter garbled accusations:
"The killer… is you!"
"The evidence… is right here…"
"The motive… was money…"
Along with these confused accusations, their eyes shot beams of light that disrupted thought, or they hurled explosive ink bottles of "false evidence." These Familiars were fearless. The moment one was destroyed, more would crawl out from the shadows.
It was endless.
This Labyrinth was a mad, chaotic, never-ending detective agency.
In the deepest part of the maze, through the constantly rotating and reorganizing walls of files and distorted light, one could sense the presence of a massive, shapeless Witch.
It was curled up behind a cracked and stained office desk, buried under countless failed case reports and empty bottles. All that was visible was the vague silhouette of a worn trench coat and a crookedly worn fedora.
From the deepest part of that shadow emanated an almost maniacal obsession—a frantic, paranoid desperation to find a certain "truth," yet forever going in circles. At the same time, it projected an unyielding will that forbade anyone from approaching a heavily guarded core area, a room labeled "Client's Lounge."
Everyone trapped here had become suspects, evidence, and victims in this "case investigation."
Their magic was severely weakened and deliberately misdirected. Any attack could trigger an unexpected trap. Their sanity was slowly being worn down by the ceaseless chaos and accusations.
Even someone as powerful as Gin was forced to scramble to dodge falling mahjong tiles and exploding ink bottles.
Vermouth was even more furious. She couldn't believe it. In a moment of carelessness while covering the escape of Conan and Ran, she too had been trapped in this damn place by the mad detective's Witch's Labyrinth.
Meanwhile, at the entrance to the underground passage.
As Dr. Agasa carried an unconscious Ran on his back, Conan took one last look behind him.
He watched as the entrance was rapidly and completely sealed off by countless case files that appeared from thin air, cutting off all light and sound from within.
The look of pure shock on Vermouth's face as she was nearly free, only to be dragged back into the Labyrinth by the swirling files, seemed to linger in the cold air.
Inside the tunnel, there was nothing left but their small group and the echoing sobs of the civilians they had rescued.