225 Exposed
On 126 Avenue du Marché in Lumian, concealed as Alsai, a member of the Poison Spur Mob, pressed the doorbell of the three-story building with a garden out back.
Amidst the pleasant chimes, the valet, who had previously ushered Louis Lund inside, swung open the wooden door.
Seeing Alsai’s face beaming with joy, he returned the smile.
“Have the voting results for today been announced?”
“You bet!” Lumian concealed his voice with feigned delight. “Monsieur Hugues Artois will be the new member of parliament by noon tomorrow!”
The valet had long been a believer in the Great Mother, and he had been promised a reward of becoming a Villain after the election. Hearing this news delighted him, and he led Lumian straight to the living room.
In the living room, “Black Scorpion” Roger, now wearing aqua-blue silk pajamas, lounged on a divan. He addressed “Short-legged Candlestick” Castina, nestled beside him while he playfully squeezed her buttocks, and “Baldy” Harman, who paced around the room.
“Hold on tight. It all comes to an end tomorrow night.
“No matter what happens in the next 24 hours, we can’t leave this place!”
Is that so? Are you willing to stay here even if there’s a fire, explosion, or earthquake? Lumian criticized silently. He shook off the valet and swiftly approached.
“Boss, I have good news!”
“Black Scorpion” Roger’s excitement was palpable. He forgot to scrutinize his subordinates’ movements, voices, and appearance. His eyes sparkled as he inquired, “Has Monsieur Hugues Artois won the election?”
“Baldy” Harman and “Short-legged Candlestick” Castina turned their gaze toward Lumian as well.
At that moment, Lumian had closed the gap between him and “Black Scorpion” Roger, standing just three meters away from the divan and the glass coffee table before it.
He exclaimed with excitement, “He’s only 2,000 votes away from securing a majority!”
“Black Scorpion” Roger felt a tinge of disappointment, but his happiness prevailed.
He nodded and proclaimed, “Very good…”
Before he could even complete his sentence, Lumian’s hand caught his attention.
He was wearing a pair of black gloves.
Alsai didn’t have such a habit!
At that moment, two blinding beams shot out from Lumian’s eyes—like silent bullets and swift lightning bolts.
With a snap, “Black Scorpion” Roger felt the imaginary sound of his Spirit Body shattering, sending waves of excruciating pain through him. He cried out tragically, clutching his head in agony.
In his state of distress, he completely forgot to activate the protective enchantment that usually shrouded the master bedroom and living room.
The sudden twist of events, their origin unknown, left “Short-legged Candlestick” Castina and “Baldy” Harman bewildered, struggling to comprehend the situation. Their responses were purely instinctive.
One of them stood tall, assuming a defensive stance against the suspicious Alsai, while the other sprinted towards their boss, shielding his flank.
Lumian seized this golden opportunity. Drawing his weapon, Fallen Mercury, he lunged at “Black Scorpion” Roger, who huddled on the couch.
Witnessing the attack, “Short-legged Candlestick” Castina intercepted with her right elbow, disregarding the harm that would befall her. Her intention was to aid “Black Scorpion” Roger in fending off the strike.
In her other hand, she grabbed the nearby axe, attempting to swing it at Alsai.
Suddenly, a figure dressed in black robes, their face concealed beneath a hood, materialized behind her.
Franca!
Franca had skillfully employed Invisibility to trail Lumian all the way to this location. Her primary target was “Short-legged Candlestick” Castina, the one providing protection to “Black Scorpion” Roger.
She refrained from directly assassinating “Black Scorpion” Roger, fearing that a fatal blow jeopardizing his life would activate the “magic circle” with its substitution effect.
The hidden blade, wreathed in black flames, darted forth alongside Franca’s full-force strike. It pierced through Castina’s back, finding its mark in her heart.
Castina’s brown eyes widened, her face contorted with disbelief, pain, and despair.
Despite the injury, she continued to block for “Black Scorpion” Roger, but her strength had already abandoned her.
Lumian’s arm seemed to possess no bones. With fluid motion, he flicked his joints and swung his forearm, evading Castina’s feeble attempt to obstruct him. The pewter-black dirk soared, aiming straight for the leader of the Poison Spur Mob.
Fallen Mercury’s tip pierced through the aqua-blue pajamas, puncturing the skin over “Black Scorpion” Roger’s ribs.
Crimson blood rapidly welled up, and amidst the pain of the Psychic Piercing somewhat subsiding, “Black Scorpion” Roger snapped back to reality.
He emitted an unnaturally enraged shriek, and blurry faces, some bluish-white, materialized on the living room’s floor, ceiling, and walls. Most were ordinary people, a handful being children, their visages twisted with agony.
As the Undying Lands materialized, “Black Scorpion” Roger, nearly impaled by Fallen Mercury, vanished from Lumian’s sight, leaving behind the pewter-black dirk stained with blood.
Crash! “Baldy” Harman toppled the coffee table and lunged towards Lumian, who had just collapsed onto the sofa.
Lumian hastily raised his hand, but his body wavered, and he slumped to the ground.
In midair, his eyes caught a glimpse of “Baldy” Harman’s form, followed by lighting up with two beams of light resembling lightning.
Harman, on the verge of launching a close combat assault, experienced an anguish that penetrated the depths of his soul, forcing an involuntary scream to escape his lips.
His body froze, tilting backward. Franca, fresh from dispatching “Short-legged Candlestick” Castina, brandished a classic brass revolver in her right hand.
She aimed it at Harman’s bald head and swiftly pulled the trigger.
With a resounding bang, an obsidian bullet pierced Harman’s gleaming scalp, causing it to explode like a watermelon. A spray of red and white erupted in all directions.
“Black Scorpion” Roger, having just manifested from the visage of an undead on the adjacent wall, witnessed the scene and emitted an unusually resentful and outraged howl.
Alongside this outcry, his eyes darkened, as though a fervent life burned within.
The blood that drenched the living room and the two lifeless bodies churned, surging towards “Baldy” Harman and “Short-legged Candlestick” Castina as if infused with a life force. The two victims adorned a crimson shroud, rising unsteadily to their feet.
The blood upon Fallen Mercury ignited, casting forth a radiant glow akin to the warmth of spring’s sun.
“Black Scorpion” Roger vividly recalled Margot’s demise, prompting his initial response to rid the evil dirk of the blood it bore and retaliate against the assailant, averting an inexplicable demise in battle.
His second response was to swiftly conclude the conflict and seek aid from Lady Moon. Even the Rebirth ritual proved incapable of absolving the influence of Ciel’s wicked dirk. The efficacy of solely burning the blood remained uncertain.
Indeed, he had recognized the assailant as that wretched lunatic, Ciel, through the pewter-black malevolent blade.
Cursed Ciel!
The radiant flames upon Fallen Mercury blazed along the blade, reaching towards Lumian’s fingertips. Without hesitation, Lumian cast aside the malevolent pewter-black dirk, letting it fall upon the ground amidst the contorted visages.
At this point, Fallen Mercury was no longer required.
The pewter-black dirk, which facilitated the exchange of destinies, merely utilized blood as a conduit; it did not depend on it. Once the fate officially entered the exchange process, the presence of blood would no longer influence subsequent developments.
As Lumian retrieved Fallen Mercury, the exchange of fates commenced.
He made no deliberate choices, allowing Fallen Mercury to exercise its own discretion.
Lumian braced his left hand against the pallid, indistinct faces strewn upon the ground. With the resilience bestowed by the Alms Monk, he rebounded onto the divan amidst the bone-chilling cold and rigidity.
No longer did the horrifying countenances of the undead pervade this space—only “Baldy” Harman and “Short-legged Candlestick” Castina, their original appearances concealed beneath the flowing cascade of blood.
Simultaneously, the two lifeless bodies extended their arms and lunged at Lumian, seeking to ensnare him in their clutches.
Meanwhile, Franca leapt nimbly, alighting upon a chair with an air of weightlessness.
Unbeknownst to all, a thick frost had descended from the pallid-white or bluish-white ground, solidifying into a translucent sheen of ice.
This restrained the undead countenances, constraining their movements.
Almost concurrently, Franca’s left hand, pressed against the hidden blade, tightened its grip, causing black flames to erupt within “Short-legged Candlestick” Castina’s form, consuming her from within.
The lingering spirit of the blood-colored corpse emitted an ethereal crackling sound as its mutated body melted akin to a dripping candle, splashing upon the ground.
“Black Scorpion” Roger, relying upon the characteristic of the Undying Lands to shift locations, emitted yet another shrill cry.
A layer of black flames enkindled upon Franca’s person.
In contrast to her own black flames, the black flames conjured by the Heretic Spellmaster exuded an overt malevolence, as if they consumed the life force and vitality of all who stood witness.
With a resounding crack, Franca’s figure shattered, leaving behind naught but irregular shards of mirror.
Upon the icy veneer upon the ground, the Witch’s form swiftly coalesced and leaped forth.
She had taken the initiative to create frost and freeze the ground not for restricting the movements of “Black Scorpion” Roger. Firstly, she sought to diminish the influence of the deceased spirits, and secondly, she aimed to gather ample materials for the Mirror Substitution.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Devoid of the pincer attack from “Short-legged Candlestick” Castina, Lumian deftly parried head-on, successfully evading the bloodied Harman. Springing onto the overturned coffee table, he withdrew his revolver and unleashed a volley of shots towards “Black Scorpion” Roger upon the wall. Concurrently, he produced the drawing depicting the peculiar sun.
He held no concern that his assault upon the target would disrupt the exchange of fates. For he was neither the wielder of Fallen Mercury, nor did he grasp its hilt.
The yellow bullets struck the wall with force, yet “Black Scorpion” Roger had already diminished into a wan, distorted, transparent countenance, vanishing from Lumian and Franca’s sight.