"Quite an imposing entrance... but she doesn't look to be in good condition."
Several pairs of eyes, each harboring their own thoughts, roamed over the girl's naked body.
Although she had revived with extraordinary momentum, her milk-white, supple skin was still carved with crisscrossing wounds.
Her back, chest, abdomen, waist, legs, neck...
The skin over her entire body looked as if it had been violently torn apart by some immense external force, leaving behind scorched, blistered marks. Deep crimson and black scars covered her from head to toe.
Moreover, those wounds were still seeping blood and white cellular residue even now. Just looking at them made one's skin crawl in pain.
Jack suddenly understood. The so-called red coat the girl had been wearing before had been dyed that color by the blood flowing from her own body.
"O god who shelters us, grant our queen your blessing!"
Yet the cult sorcerers around her were even more excited. Their gazes toward the resurrected Progenitor Goddess Angela were filled with morbid fanaticism, as if the one who had returned was the savior of them all.
Following Angela's sacred chant, the people surrounding her began to concentrate the curse power around them even more intensely—they had resolved to restore her to a flawless state.
It had to be said, if one ignored their past actions and judged only the present moment.
The faith and devotion of those gathered here were pure, without the slightest blemish.
But the object of their faith was a witch who brought disaster, and the doctrine they offered themselves to was a wretched cult. Whether viewed from egoism or collectivism, such behavior could hardly be called humane. It could only be described as chaotic anti-social conduct. Even Satsuki could not comprehend what kind of experiences would drive someone to make such a decision—one that would rather see everything burn together in mutual destruction.
—Then again, from the perspective of an outsider who did not understand Satsuki, she herself might appear somewhat anti-social as well. After all, in her eyes, the word "kindred" had all but ceased to exist.
The chanting continued, and naturally, so did the explosions.
Angela's current state was clearly far from ideal. In order to restore the glory of their queen, the sorcerers fell one after another. They died one after another.
"O god who shelters us, grant our queen your blessing!"
Each time the incantation was recited in unison, a believer would burst apart, and one of the wounds on Angela's body would heal.
The horrific crimson-and-black scars gradually shrank under the influx of curse power. The blood that had been flowing endlessly finally stopped. The skin that had been oozing pus was covered once more by newly grown tissue. Before anyone realized it, most of the witch's injuries had already disappeared. Her pristine white skin reflected the silver moonlight. Only three or four uninjured believers remained.
Aside from the wound on her back,
They could not wait any longer. Jack, who had been observing from the sidelines, finally made up his mind. Now was the opportunity he had been waiting for. The surrounding sorcerers were exhausted, and all of their attention was focused on the witch in the center. No one would notice his small movements.
At this point, he had already steeled himself. The only option left was to personally defeat Angela—and then leave this place.
So—he drew the automatic pistol concealed at his waist.
Bang bang bang
Several consecutive shots rang out. The bullets struck toward the witch's abdomen, legs, and forehead. However, aside from producing sparks like a childish prank upon her skin, they failed even to scratch her.
"I wondered which petty thief had sneaked in. So it's you. I recall you're a dog raised by John Pluto Smith."
After being glared at viciously by her, Jack's clumsy disguise shattered. The terror hidden within that cute voice froze his very organs.
The girl was the embodiment of death and brutality. Before her, Jack Mirupan was nothing more than a powerless lackey, utterly without any chance of victory.
Yet even in such despair, Jack did not abandon his last hope. He decisively threw the pistol—which had merely been a feint—onto the deck, then reached into his cloak and drew out another weapon from a shoulder holster.
—It was a steel-colored magic gun, the bow once used by the Godslayer Smith to fire magic bullets. Jack aimed it at the witch.
The moment she saw the gun, Angela did not react at all. She continued mocking him.
"Oh? Still struggling? What trick do you think you can pull off?"
It was clear she did not consider the magic gun aimed at her to be any threat.
Because she knew very well that it was a tool belonging to a Godslayer. An ordinary person could never use it. Confident in that fact, she did not even attempt to dodge.
"Foolish woman!"
Satsuki secretly let out a scornful remark toward the self-satisfied Angela—this pitiful Progenitor Goddess still believed everything was under her control.
Little did she know that she had already fallen into Smith's calculations.
She was Leviathan, the undying serpent. She could choose to self-detonate to achieve an extreme one-for-one exchange, then revive at the fountain.
But was Smith an ordinary man?
He was one of the few remaining Godslayers in the world. Would he not have several life-saving trump cards prepared?
What did it mean to forget the pain once the wound had healed? This was the most typical example. Not long ago, because she underestimated the Godslayer Smith, she had been forced into self-detonation and had relied on the undying serpent's nature to resurrect.
And now, without even confirming whether Smith was truly dead, she had once again made the mistake of underestimating her opponent.
If she had not been so confident at this moment, if she had used her perception to examine that magic gun, she would have realized that inside that revolver, the Authority capable of slaying gods was already in motion.
"It seems... I'll have to step in after all."
At the instant Jack pulled the trigger, Satsuki, within the Folded Space, raised her wrist.
The Authority of Energy Control activated in an instant—the golden light flashed, and the white radiance that had been gathering inside the magic gun was abruptly dispersed. In the blink of an eye, it became nothing more than a heap of scrap metal.
"So... it still won't work?"
Jack stared blankly at the gun in his hand.
"—Idiot!"
In Angela's eyes, the human before her was pitifully insignificant. And to foolishly attempt to injure a god with such a mundane object—under normal circumstances, she would have delighted in slowly torturing such a person to death. But now, she had no time to waste on an insect.
She cast a glance at Jack as if he were worthless trash, then issued an order to her followers.
"My servants, offer your lives to me! This is my command!"
In the end, three of the remaining four sorcerers exploded as well, driven by a strange satisfaction in self-sacrifice. Smiles lingered on their faces as they met the fate of their heads bursting apart.
The witch's slender body bore not a single wound. She was completely unscathed.
Thus, Progenitor Goddess Angela was fully resurrected.
The fully revived witch grinned viciously and extended her restored, tender white hand. From a distance, she seized Jack by the throat, watching with mocking amusement as he struggled in midair like a fish flopping out of water.
"Smith's loyal hound. Sneaking alone into the lair of evil, only to die miserably with no one ever knowing. That fate truly suits you two who love hiding in the shadows."
"Urgh..."
The crushing force around his throat left Jack unable to speak. His eyes bulged involuntarily. He weighed nearly one hundred and eighty pounds, yet now he was lifted into the air by an invisible, overwhelming strength.
"Let me think... what sort of death would suit you?"
The witch pretended to ponder. Then the sinister gleam in her eyes shifted into the vertical pupils of a reptile.
"Ah, I remember. It seems I haven't eaten for about a week. Why not make you a little appetizer?"
Hearing that she intended to devour him alive, Jack struggled even more violently in midair. He did not believe she was joking.
But the force constricting him was far too immense. He could not break free.
He could only watch as he was dragged before Angela. Then—
The corners of her mouth suddenly split open into long, narrow fissures. The skin around them sprouted reptilian scales. Her jaws stretched grotesquely, opening up and down like a serpent's maw, expanding to twice the size of her original face.
"Oh... my God."
Witnessing such a horrifying transformation at such close range, Jack—once a detective—was completely petrified. His soul seemed to leave his body. Aside from the subconscious twitching of his autonomic nerves, even the thought of "struggling before death" vanished from his mind in sheer terror.
However, just as Angela was about to swallow Smith's dog whole, a mysterious spatial energy suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Jack's figure twisted in midair and vanished instantly. In his place, before Angela, appeared a massive vat filled with liquid that carried a faint scent of alcohol.
Hissssss—
In her transformed state, Angela let out a serpentine shriek with unprecedented sharpness. The instant she smelled that scent, her body began to convulse violently. She hurled the vat away in a frenzy.
Bang—crash!
The enormous container smashed heavily onto the deck of the luxury cruise ship. Large quantities of yellow liquid spilled out, flowing across the entire vessel. Anyone familiar with traditional remedies would immediately recognize it as realgar wine.
Realgar's main component is arsenic sulfide and contains traces of mercury, making it toxic. Ordinary realgar wine is made by adding a minute amount of realgar into strong liquor or homemade rice wine. It is never consumed pure.
But the preparation Satsuki had made for Progenitor Goddess Angela was entirely different. Others added realgar to wine. She had added wine to realgar.
Angela indeed possessed extraordinary divine power and immortality. Yet she had also inherited the weaknesses and instincts of a serpent. Though this specially prepared realgar wine could not truly harm her now that she had become a god, the sheer concentration at such close range triggered her serpentine instincts.
Some things cannot cause direct damage, yet are remarkably effective in function.
As if an allergic reaction had been activated, Angela screamed repeatedly upon the deck saturated with the pungent scent of realgar. Her serpentine nature rendered her body weak and limp. Even channeling curse power within her became extremely difficult.
In the end, she could only turn her gaze toward the final remaining follower on the field and shout an order.
"Quick! Use magic to wash this damned stuff away!"
At this moment, she no longer looked like the lofty, domineering Progenitor Goddess who had just revived. Instead, she resembled a young girl on the verge of tears after having her lollipop snatched away.
—Well, if one ignored her face.
"Um... my apologies. Though it is a request from a lady, I must decline."
The subordinate's reply stunned the Progenitor Goddess. Then, as if realizing something, she snapped her reptilian pupils toward her last remaining follower. Her expression instantly turned savage once more.
"Smith? Impossible...! Why are you—ugh..."
Angela could barely speak. The scent of realgar wine in the air forced her to bend over, retching uncontrollably. And echoing beside her was a sound she knew all too well—
Clack, clack, clack, clack.
The metallic edges of boots striking the ground.
That accursed sound belonged only to the man who should have been dead.
The man she had believed she killed with her self-detonation.
"Your question is truly tedious. Was it not you who called me Pluto?"
The last remaining believer answered in a refined tenor, dismissing her question in a single sentence.
Then his appearance began to change. A mask formed from black armor gradually covered his head. An additional air-filtration device was constructed into it, resembling a full-face racing helmet, with eye lenses like the compound eyes of an insect.
"Did you truly believe you had defeated me in our last encounter? If so, you underestimate me far too much. For the King of the Underworld, an occasional visit back home is only natural."
Flicking his black cloak like a vampire's cape, he slowly approached.
Beneath it was refined attire in the style of a modern European court, predominantly blue and exquisitely tailored.
Every graceful movement evoked a seasoned stage actor. Yet he was not particularly tall, nor was his build imposing—rather, he seemed somewhat lean.
"Even if one dies and travels to the underworld, one will someday return to the earth. Such is the natural order. If you could not foresee even that future, Progenitor Goddess Angela, then you are truly foolish. However, I did not expect this play to take such a turn from here—I had already helped that fellow Jack activate the Authority within the magic gun, merely waiting for him to pull the trigger. Yet things unfolded like this instead."
"Wh-what did you say?"
—"His meaning is simple—your role on this stage has come to an end."
A hollow female voice suddenly sounded from behind Angela. As space rippled, Satsuki appeared in an instant. With lightning speed, she extended her arm and pressed her hand against the spot slightly below the back of Angela's neck, along the cervical spine.
The great leader of the Fly King, the Progenitor Goddess who had revived with supreme arrogance only minutes ago, trembled violently like a serpent seized at its vital point. Her bones shook. Her strength scattered. Even the divine power circulating within her was completely dispersed by an overwhelming force.
In but a single instant—
The once fearsome witch collapsed limply in Satsuki's grasp.
—
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