Dies Irae: Song To The Witch - novelonlinefull.com
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America experienced a surge in the development of certain cultural aspects that were very underdeveloped before the sixties. Art galleries and museums, the country that boasted the status of world leader had very few of those. When the American people caught wind of this, they set up some of the world's biggest establishments in this category, such as the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the American Museum of Natural History. It can be said that 1962 is the year America's culture started booming. Gradually, more and more art and discoveries would see the light of day. Rusalka frowned, standing in a warehouse with items such as these on display.
Isn't this range a bit too long..?
Before her stood an axe that was said to be used for executions at the Tower of London. Rusalka traced its long handle with her finger. At a glance, its blade looks sharp and it is stained with blood, but this axe contains no souls. In other words, it is a fake. This warehouse contains plenty of items with a historical background that have the potential to become an Ahnenerbe, but unfortunately they are all forgeries. Not just some of them, but all of them are fake, making one think there might be more going on here than meets the eye.
Following the stagnation of their enemy's activities, Rusalka decided to chase her own goals again. What piqued her interest was the whereabouts of various holy relics gathered by Ahnenerbe. Eichmann hinted that some had made their way to America. Rusalka had heard that a number of these relics slumber in this warehouse, but like all of the other ones, they have been swapped with forgeries. Rusalka had been traversing America for over half a month, visiting all museums and galleries, but the situation was all the same. Where did they disappear to?
Rusalka suddenly picked up a wicked presence. All potential holy relics in this warehouse are fake, so the atmosphere should have been clean. But the room was filled with malice. The source of this malice quietly appeared on the other side of the table. The woman who appeared wore a seemingly old army uniform, a velvet uniform that looked more worn than Rusalka's own SS officer's clothing. Rusalka remembered it from one of the museums she visited, was it not used during the period between the American Civil War and the American Indian War?
While somewhat hidden beneath her unfashionable clothes, the woman had quite the measurements, but what drew the most attention was the piece of cloth wrapped around her eye. It was a rather large piece, wrapped around the area around her eye like a headband, but it seemed to serve as a sort of eyepatch. Of course, it covered both of her eyes. The cloth had one eye drawn onto it, but that is simply a drawing. It makes one wonder if she can even see in front of her.
The source of the wickedness Rusalka felt was the uncovered saber the eyepatched woman held. It was a gorgeous saber with a handle that had an imbued gem and gold plating. If anything, it seemed more like a decoration rather than a weapon, yet a glastly aura emanated from it. That saber contains a large amount of souls and malice, it is somebody's Ahnenerbe.
Before Rusalka had a chance to open her mouth, the eyepatched woman struck at her. A gallant attempt, but there was too much distance between them. The eyepatched woman witnessed Rusalka's man-eating shadows appear before her, she would be free to speak her mind after submitting to their grip. This was what Rusalka thought, but she felt a sudden sense of unease... Something unlike anything she has ever felt before, she felt an unusual tremor.
The eyepatched woman took advantage of this opening and slipped right through the shadows. With her saber still in a striking position, she managed to overtake Rusalka.
Without saying a word, she then sheathed her saber and disappeared. The woman managed to escape thanks to her fluid movements without much hesitation, and thanks to Rusalka's surprise to actually suffering an injury for the first time in ages. Rusalka picked up the letter the eyepatched woman left behind. It was waxed shut, the contents were yet unknown. Only the recipient's name was visible, making Rusalka laugh scornfully.
Blessed witch, huh...
Blessed is not exactly a word that has any application to a witch, no matter how you interpret it. Such a ridiculous combination, a real witch can only laugh at this. The sneering Rusalka had a small cut on her neck, bleeding slightly. Her first wound in a long time, its pain gave way to nostalgia and unease.
What did the G.o.ds feel when they were angered by the Tower of Babel? Looking upon the skyline makes one think about such trivial things. Out the window of a limousine, a great view of Manhattan is visible, representing man's ambition to go beyond. It is a nice view. If a war with the Soviet Union were to break out next year, this may all turn to ashes. It would surely be a shame, but it would also simply represent the path man chooses to take, and that is interesting in its own way. Rusalka chuckled.
The letter Rusalka received from the eyepatched woman was actually an invitation to a party. It was an elegant letter, with the party's time and location written onto it. When she went to the given location at the given time, a pitch black limousine was waiting for her. The chauffeur quietly guided the guests into the car and took off. Could he be a skilled professional? Or was he told precisely what to do? The chauffeur's movements were precise to the smallest detail, and he never flinched, even after seeing Rusalka's military outfit that represented her membership of the Obsidian Round Table.
The limousine eventually stopped in front of a fancy-looking hotel. The quality of an overnight stay in New York can vary greatly, where there are cheap hotels aimed at backpackers, there are also high-cla.s.s hotels such as the Waldorf Astoria and the Plaza Hotel. The limousine had parked in front of the latter.
Ah, this hotel gets guests from all over the world!
Why are you looking at me like that? I'm staying at my hotel because I want to, I only need the basic necessities!
Beatrice, exiting the limousine after Rusalka, voiced her displeasure. Indeed, the place where Beatrice is staying is very simple and has only what is necessary. The type of place Eleonore would certainly like. The invitation specified that Rusalka may bring one guest, and naturally she brought Beatrice. Surely the host would see this coming from a mile away.
You know, I thought maybe it'd be funny to bring a bunch of unrelated guys we've never met before, the host'll never see that coming! What do you think?
I don't really care. More importantly, don't you think the lobby is awfully quiet?
Beatrice immediately rejected the offer and voiced a different concern. She is already more than used to being treated like a rubber duck, but she can never quite lose that greenhorn status, making her irresistable to tease. Rusalka entered the lobby after Beatrice in order to observe the area.
At a glance, the hotel looks opened, but there are no people. No sign of any guests, and only a handful of staff members. This luxurious hotel felt lonely. The two stepped into the hotel, their military clothing and young appearance did not alert the staff at all, they simply offered a formal greeting.
Some sort of barrier?
I can't sense one.
Then what is this eerie feeling?
Possibly a power yet different from a barrier, a way to control people's thoughts and behaviour through authority. Rusalka entered the elevator and opened up a panel that was located below the elevator's control pad, as per the letter's instruction. The panel hid a b.u.t.ton that would send the two to the upper floor. Rusalka pressed the b.u.t.ton, and the elevator gently started moving.
After the door shut, Beatrice grabbed her Thrud WalkureHoly Sword of the Valkyrie so that she could unsheathe it at any moment. She had already heard all about the eyepatched woman who wields a saber like her.
The two reached the top floor without hinder, right away they were greeted by two huge doors. They could already smell something that made them feel sick. It was like a thick perfume, many different smells seem to have come together to create a nasty odour. Furthermore, the presence of people with rather high density could be sensed, coming from the other side of the door.
I really don't want to open this...
Beatrice voiced her unfiltered thoughts, then she opened the two doors.
Overwhelmed, but one by astonishment and one by joy. Before them played out a feast of s.e.xual pleasure. Below the pink and purple lit ceiling, men and women laid together as far as the eye could see. All ideas of reproduction out the window, all that remains is the pleasures of the flesh.
Rusalka sniffed. She could identify the scent that filled the room as a combination of aphrodisiacs from many different countries and eras.
If you take too much of this stuff, you won't be able to return to being a normal member of society anymore. Are you feeling anything, Valkyrie?
I'm feeling fine.
Beatrice was beating up a man who tried to grab her from behind. What was he thinking?
In the center of the room, there was a stage with a stripper in a cowgirl outfit performing a pole dance. A poledancer can be found in many places, but adding a stripper into the mix is not a bad idea. The poledancing act itself is obscene, and perhaps in the near future it might become mainstream for other strippers to perform it.
Rusalka was somewhat enthralled, but her neighbour was grinding her teeth. Beatrice seemed like she was about to start cutting away at her surroundings. She probably felt disgusted by this spectacle, but it was not enough. Would she acknowledge it like Rusalka? Maybe become inspired by it like Lisa? Or burn it all to a crisp like Eleonore? As a member of the Obsidian Round Table who has laid her eyes on this spectacle that could rival the sin of Sodom and Gomorrah, she wanted to be better.
Rusalka and Beatrice walked past the stage and approached the center of the room. They felt an even thicker magical pressure, its source was a small area in the middle of the room that was covered by thin veils. Even the partic.i.p.ants of this feast dared not approach that place. Beyond the veil is the lord of this sabbath. Beatrice steadily walked up to the veil and rended it without a hint of hesitation. Her hatred towards that place made her movements all the more swift.
In spite of her determination, Beatrice's movements suddenly stopped. Even Rusalka, who peeked inside the veils, showed signs of shock. The ident.i.ty of the person inside the veils was so unexpected it shocked both Obsidian Round Table members.
Welcome to my sabbath! It is hastily put together, but could it have been to your liking, perchance?
The person's face had a bewitching feeling, with her nonchalant blonde hair and youthful visage. She had a mole beneath her lips and beautiful slender legs. Marilyn Monroe, who should have died some time ago, was sitting on the throne of her own sabbath. This throne was made up of men crawling on all fours, it was a throne made of flesh. Ah, this sight is likely both pleasing and extraordinarly despairing to the American people.
Please, sit. Our chat might take some time. Being the only one sitting down feels a bit awkward.
Though told to sit, the seat in question was once again made of men. They are wearing leather masks and underwear, so they are not completely naked, but even given the benefit of the doubt, they are very lightly dressed. Rusalka sat down elegantly, as prompted. She did not sit on top, however, she sat with her back against that of one of the men. The seat trembled of the pleasure it had received from this.
Aren't they comfortable?
Rusalka did not move an inch. Neither did Beatrice, but instead of sitting down, she stood and stared. She was able to hold back her discomfort with rationality.
Oh, even among monsters, we have a real cutie...
The lord of the sabbath made fun of her, but Beatrice did not waver. She stayed quiet, leaving the talking to Rusalka. This was not out of spite, her mission here was to serve as backup in enemy territory.
Are you the real Marilyn Monroe?
Rusalka, who was to do the talking, blatantly asked the lord of the sabbath.
Am I the real Monroe? Hmmm, that's a tough one. The girl who died was my stand-in. I once lived the celebrity life, but it's horribly hectic and I got bored of it all, so lately I've been leaving everything to her. She just seemed to be succ.u.mbing to the pressure of late, so I think even if you lot hadn't interfered, she would have suffered a similar fate. I didn't think she would bite the dust the way she did, though, I must admit.
I see, so that girl is a fake, and you are the real deal... Or... What if you're just somebody who had plastic surgery to look like Marilyn Monroe? What if you're a body double who decided to take this opportunity to pretend to be the real deal? Or what if you're a psychiatric patient who genuinely believes she's the real Marilyn Monroe? Wouldn't that be much more interesting?
You're right, that would be more interesting. But you're free to call me Monroe either way, after all, I don't really like being called blessed witch...
Blessed witch. Monroe remained completely calm even after being called out by Rusalka. Going by guts alone, this person has much more courage than the one who died crying in her own home, befitting a celebrity.
So blessed witch, huh. It's such a silly nickname to give to people, but you call yourself that deliberately?
Yes, after all I am blessed.
Monroe paid no heed to Rusalka's sarcasm and continued.
I'm rich, loved by the ma.s.ses and I can do whatever I want. I am so blessed it can't be helped... The star Marilyn Monroe is just one side of me, I have plenty of faces and social positions. America belongs to me. So the least I can do is call myself blessed and acknowledge the hardships those around me have to go through... The modern witch cares about those around her, you know.
You are so sweet.
Spreading her kindness to the ma.s.ses, just what world leader is she trying to be? Rusalka became irritated by her. A witch is someone who does not get what they want, someone who is avoided by the ma.s.ses. This is how Rusalka defines a witch, and seeing this person in front of her so free of troubles really annoyed her.
Would you please stop looking at me like you hate me? I even went and got rid of those in your way for you...
In a way, what Monroe said was completely predictable.
So it was you?
Yes, I took the liberty of walking two steps ahead of you. After all, I have the power of an entire country behind me.
It has become clear why Monroe drew out Beatrice.
So what did you hope to achieve with this? Right now it's been nothing more than unsolicited help...
Hearing that saddens me... But no, that's not all. Like I said before, I can do anything. This was just a simple demonstration, showing I can even do things like that.
Is this a joke?
Rusalka already realized what she is implying. Beatrice's expression remains steady, but so has she. They are astonished by this person who doesn't know their place.
I don't joke around, unless I'm doing a comedy drama... I want to join the Obsidian Round Table, as I'm certain I can do good work. We were originally created to fight you, but I thought it'd be more interesting if we became allies instead.
It is like they thought, the woman herself has said it, but it still sounds like the words of somebody who does not know their place.
Ah, alright. Well, it's kind of a ha.s.sle so I'll tell you right now, you can't.
Rusalka tossed the application out of the window, with no room for negotiations. Beatrice nodded silently.
Why? Well, our CEO is currently unavailable and we are perfectly staffed. Seeing as there are no open positions, I kindly ask you try elsewhere. I do, however, wish you luck in your future endeavours. - So kind of like that. Get it? There's not enough room for more than one witch.
Currently, and at any point, Rusalka is the sole witch in the Obsidian Round Table. No matter how beautiful or powerful you may be, with Lord Heydrich gone, there are no plans to take in any new members. There is Valeria Trifa, the acting commander-in-chief, who has a position where he can recruit new members, but surely he would not take a request such as this serious. Not to mention, this would mean Rusalka would gain yet another opponent in the race for immortality via the Trans.m.u.tation of Gold, thank you but no thank you.
If there can only be one witch...
The moment Monroe spoke these words in such a quiet voice the rest of her sentence could not be heard, the heads of the men forming Rusalka's seat split open. The hand that split their heads belonged to Rusalka. Their guts splattered towards Monroe and defiled her face.
Ah... Do you have any idea how much it takes to maintain my beautiful face?
So that means we can smash it all we want, right?
Monroe leapt away from the enraged Rusalka, from below her throne made up of men appeared a monster. The monster carried a collection of torture tools atop its hardened muscles, it wore a crude leather mask, and its appearance would remind anyone of an executioner. It had slight traces of a protruding chest and smooth groin, implying, though faintly, that it is female.
If there are no vacancies, we can just create them anew. Did you hear that, girls? If two new spots open up tonight, one of you might be able to join!
There are multiple witches in this area, the blessed witch Monroe is likely their ringleader. The executioner stood in front of Rusalka and reached for her own spine, what she took out of her body was a large axe. It was the original version of the axe that had been replaced by a forgery, the axe that had been used for many executions at the Tower of London. This true weapon was flooded with true hatred and animosity, the angered Rusalka stood face to face with the executioner.
Beatrice was astounded. She always knew Rusalka was pessimistic and easy to get riled up, but she is also a tactician. To think there exist simple words that could get a tactician like her so worked up... What could Monroe possibly have said to push Rusalka so far? Beatrice did not hear the remainder of Monroe's sentence. Either way, here ends this sorry excuse of a negotiation attempt. Beatrice could already sense murderous intent, neither from Monroe nor from the executioner, but a much more refined murderous intent came from behind her.
one of you might be able to join!
If Monroe is to be believed, there are at least two more enemies. Beatrice turned around, and she saw the stripper atop her stage staring at her, her back straight in a pose one would sooner find in a drawing. The stripper stuck out her tongue, and down it came gliding two double-action revolvers with particularly large barrels. How in the world did she fit those down there? Before asking herself anything like that, Beatrice leapt back. The guns delivered bullets one after the other, one of those bullets shot right through the heads of an unfortunate couple that got in its way.
Look at you go!
As if overwhelmed by the room's thick scent, the stripped's voice sounded high-pitched and excited. The stripper put her twin handguns back into the holsters that were attached to her cowgirl outfit. Apparently this was no cowgirl outfit, but rather a gunman cosplay.
A single bullet had sc.r.a.ped her leg slightly, leaving a wound. She did not know what those revolvers truly were, but they certainly were Ahnenerbe capable of harming her body. The part that surprised Beatrice was not the revolvers, however. It was the way she reloaded them.
Beatrice witnessed something painful and repulsive, and impulsively bit her tongue. The stripper was holding a freshly reloaded gun in one of her hands, and the other gun was in the process of being reloaded by four hands sprawling from her stomach. They were like the hands of two children, having become perfectly in sync, focused solely on their task of reloading the gun.
Alright, here we go again, kids!
The stripper was able to fire as she pleased, leaving the reloading to the hands bursting from her stomach. What teamwork between parent and child. Beatrice had been dodging the bullets with suberb speed up until now, but stray bullets have been taking out intoxicated men and women left and right. Going out while tripping and without suffering may also be another decent way to die, from a different perspective.
Don't you see guns are stronger than swords!?
The stripper's joyeous voice reached Beatrice, who had her hands full with a shower of bullets. Beatrice suddenly stopped moving and stood still in place. Surprised at her sudden halt, the thus far trigger-happy stripper stopped as well. The blade is mightier than the gun. - There is a saying like that, but that does not mean it is correct. As a knight, Beatrice was trained knowing this fact. Lightning surged from the Thrud WalkureHoly Sword of the Valkyrie she wielded, in an attempt to extinguish that light, the stripper's revolver unleashed another burst of flames. A lump of human meat that appeared in front of Beatrice shielded her from the wall of fire, it was a corpse she kicked up in front of herself at the last second.
The stripper tossed one gun into the air for her stomach's hands to reload, and took another newly reloaded gun back. In what little time this took, Beatrice had already closed in on the stripper. She proceeded neither over nor around the corpse she kicked up, but below it. She slid below the corpse with such ma.s.sive speed it cracked the floorboards, and not even the stripper, with her talent for keeping track of moving objects as a gunman, could keep up with her.
With a backhand grip, Beatrice cut off one of the stripper's arms with a speed even greater than that of a percussion hammer. And in a continuing fashion, she took her other arm too. With this, the stripper lost her ability to fight. Blood surged from the stripper's arm sockets, and she kneeled. This was likely just another occupational hazard to her, as there was still pa.s.sion to be seen in her gaze.
It's over now.
Beatrice had already cut the pleading stripper's carotid arteries. As blood came gushing out of her wounds, the arms in the stripper's stomach slowly became weaker and eventually died. With a faint smile, the stripper too died. As would be expected of someone who treated other people's lives so indifferently, a large number of souls came flowing out of her. Not quite giving the impression that a single person was just killed. But these souls were not for Beatrice.
There was a sheer difference between the amount of souls she should have gotten, and the amount she did get. Beatrice noticed the souls all flowing to a different place. At end of her line of sight stood Monroe, holding her hand up, strangely licking her lips. There is no mistaking it, Monroe stole Beatrice's spoils of war. As Beatrice headed towards Monroe, she felt a sudden sense of unease.
Beatrice deflected the saber that came flying at her from above. The saber's owner landed by Monroe's side, before Beatrice.
You know the ropes, huh...
Beatrice commended the eyepatched woman in front of her. Her precise attack just now, her violent landing and above all, her masterful use of her saber. She is no amateur, she has to have plenty of training and experience behind her back to reach such a level. This earnest display of swordsmanship closely resembled Beatrice's own.
The eyepatched woman swung her saber without saying a word. It now clear that by her pride as a knight, she would respond to Beatrice's commendation with her blade.
Rusalka was having a blast.
Ahahahahahaha! This is the stuff ~!
She could easily avoid the shrieking executioner's axe, and with each missed swing, the bodycount increased. If a giant chases you with a huge axe, that would normally scare most people to death, freezing them in place. However, this giant is stupid, very stupid. After all, it is not paying any heed to the traps Rusalka has set up. Even when its path is blocked by a stone wall, even when it is restrained by chains, it forcefully breaks through.
Yes, her wall is crushed and her chains broken, but that is no big deal. Normally, when an Ahnenerbe is destroyed, its owner receives suitable damage as a form of feedback, but the torture tools Rusalka is able to summon are but a small part of her a.r.s.enal, and when destroyed, the damage she receives is neglegible. The enemy is springing all of her traps, ruining their aim, making dodging easy. This is too much fun. Rusalka is starting to get satisfied, and her anger has lessened too.
Now then ~ While we're at it, let's have a look at you...
While having such an easy time, Rusalka's eyes started glowing. Rusalka has the ability to view the target's life force through colours. Based on the shade and hue, she can determine someone's danger level and strength. For example, the executioner going rampant before her shows red and black. Typically found in madmen, but conflicting colours are nothing to boast about. Palettes that should be feared are one single colour. Lord Heydrich, Mercurius and the three battalion commanders all have very basic hues. Even the most gentle colours can represent a very dangerous person if thick enough.
Some distance away, two people with green hues are having at each other. There may be some subtle differences in their palette, but fundamentally they resemble each other. Looking over at Monroe, she showed as complete black, with some irregularities to be found. Compared to a certain battalion commander whose palette is perfectly black, Monroe's is very chaotic. Oh see... She is not a big deal after all... Rusalka made light of Monroe, but that opinion of hers would change a couple minutes later.
Wait, is that-
Rusalka let her guard down and had the executioner's axe swinging at her once more. Annoyed, she caught the executioner's arms with a vice she summoned. After tightening, the vice captured both of the executioner's wrists.
Ah, for the love of... Please shut up!
A chain that appeared from above wrapped around the executioner's mouth and neck. Escaping has become quite hard with both wrists broken. Rusalka's shadows stealthily approached the struggling executioner. They devoured not the executioner itself, but the floor beneath its legs. Without sufficient foothold, the executioner fell through the floor, crushing floor after floor below it due to its immense weight. When it reached the lobby, the sound of cracking floors stopped and sounds of bones and meat breaking were audible. Rusalka's chains were not quite long enough to reach all the way to the lobby, making this more of a hanging, rather than a fall. Rusalka stared at Monroe, not even giving a glance to the hole created by the executioner fell through.
If you look at me so pa.s.sionately, I won't be able to bear it, you know.
Monroe swayed her body. Her s.e.x appeal made America drool all over her, but to Rusalka, who could see her true colour, it was just another worthless sight. Monroe's colour is definitely black and chaotic, but her black is not just any chaotic black. To be exact, it is not even black. It is more like the undesirable colour that would come from mixing a bunch of colours on a palette at random. So naturally, her colour is the opposite of simple, but instead of chaotic it is more like an abomination of a colour. Rather than indicating somebody dangerous, it indicates somebody indecipherable. Not hard to look at, but ugly.
Rusalka stared suspiciously at Monroe. She paid Rusalka no heed, however, as she held her arm up in the air. Stretching and contracting her fingers, almost as if she was touching an invisible object.
Now that I'm all hot and bothered, I'll have to cool down.
Monroe clenched her hand shut. Behind Rusalka, something was suddenly shredded away. Not too long ago, the corpse of the stripper Beatrice killed was lying there. Now only parts of her arms and legs remain, along with a small pool of blood.
What is this...
Rusalka inspected the remains of the stripper's corpse and tried to ascertain Monroe's power. The eyepatched woman, the stripper and the executioner all used their Ahnenerbe as a straightforward weapon, though sometimes in strange ways... But Monroe's case is different, her power is far more conceptual and magical. If one was to compare it to Ewigkeit...
Now onto the next!
W-Wait! Hold on, at least give me some time to think!
Monroe waved her arm in dissidence, furniture and walls around Rusalka started being shredded away as if chasing the fleeing Rusalka. Closing, and opening her hand. Such a simple gesture allowed Monroe to bring about such an unfathomable level of destruction. And now her wave of destruction had reached the clashing Beatrice and the eyepatched woman. The two noticed the impending force and let their next attack pa.s.s each other, allowing the invisible force through.
The fleeing Rusalka reached Beatrice's side.
Haha, I thought you made it in time.
That was the plan...
On Beatrice's cheek was a small saber cut. The unharmed eyepatched woman was fittingly standing by the side of Monroe, who had shut her hand by now.
Let's call it a day.
Monroe singlehandedly announced the end of this bout.
You're running away!?
Call it running if you want, I'm just pulling back. I overdid it a little today, sorry ~
The rampaging executioner and Monroe's mysterious power caused damage not only to the walls and the floor, but also to the building's integrity. The building had started to sway, and there was a large hole connecting their floor to the lobby, with a large corpse hanging in its center. Aside from using a barrier, it has become very hard to cover this up as if nothing happened using only her authority.
Like I said before, this has been a demonstration. I have proven that I can leave light wounds on you two of the Obsidian Round Table and get away with it! Wouldn't you say that's an unparalleled accomplishment?
Monroe's tone was unpleasant, but she was right. From the day of inception until now, n.o.body outside the Obsidian Round Table had ever gotten this far.
You're right. I'll keep that in mind on your first day. But nothing more, though.
Rusalka also had an unpleasant tone, but she did acknowledge Monroe's accomplishment.
Thank you very much. If possible I'd like it if you could tell your stand-in CEO, or your actual CEO, about this. Next time I'll bring fresh new candidates!
Monroe opened her hands and spread out her arms, she then vigorously joined her hands in front of her chest. With such power that made the destruction from before look like child's play, the s.p.a.ce around Monroe became completely shredded in an instant. Even the debris that formed as a result of this destruction completely disappeared in the next instant. When the air became clear again, Monroe and the eyepatched woman were both gone.
Did we find out anything useful?
Beatrice sheathed her weapon. Now that any trace of them had disappeared, trying to chase them has become useless. They had no choice but to call it a day too.
We did, we got plenty of intel about the nature of this little group of witches. It's just...
Looking around, any traces of blood of the men and women had now turned into wreckage. The intoxicated couples had pa.s.sed away while intoxicated, leaving not a single survivor.
We didn't get any tangible results.
People died, a large amount of cursed souls came about. Normally, they would all be ripe for the taking. But Rusalka and Beatrice only burned souls today by exerting their power. The souls of the deceased, those released from the late stripper and executioner, all were taken from them by Monroe. How aggravating... Could this too be counted among the other party's accomplishments? This was a recommendation she had no plans to tell her superior about, but sadly it would not leave her thoughts.