Chapter 809 Strange (Part 1)

The damage caused by the witch is really astonishing. Although the mystics standing on the square couldn't directly see the damage, judging from the real-time satellite images, the corpse of the Angel of Four Virtues destroyed more than one building. Salomon was once again thankful that he had evacuated the crowd, otherwise the local people would have been buried in the ruins of the building without knowing it. Out of some unknown sense of responsibility, Salomon did not allow himself to avoid sacrifices as much as possible.

This kind of rhetoric of biochemical weapons leaking has been tried and tested. No wonder SHIELD always used this excuse when they wanted to evacuate the scene in the past.

The battle with the sage is extremely tiring, and the mental exhaustion far outweighs the physical exhaustion. Although Salomon hadn't opened too many stigmata due to his resistance, he still used a little force when facing such a terrifying enemy. He needs to keep looking into higher and deeper planes to observe the actions of the sage, and think about countermeasures, set up traps, and consider how to set up the next trap after the one is seen through. At the same time, his eyes on the real plane still need to keep a close eye on the enemy, and his brain needs to rely on previous training to resist attacks. Therefore, when he closed the stigmata after the battle, he felt dizzy in his brain, and had to inject drugs through the power armor's life support system to try his best to maintain his mental state and calm his lungs and heart that were about to explode and were almost scorched.

He needed to drink some water, the power armor's circulating sweat wasn't quite enough for his bodily functions.

The mystic ascended to the roof, casting spells to lighten his weight so as not to crush the house already ravaged by his battle with the sage. The violent energy on Holy Sword gradually eased and cooled down, and the smell of ozone in the air slowly dissipated, just like the anger contained in his emotions gradually subsided. He took off the scarred helmet, squinted his eyes, stood beside the witch, and looked at the place where the dust was slowly falling in the distance.

The witch quietly stretched her neck and sniffed his wet hair.

Maybe it's because of the hormones. Bayonetta especially likes the smell of Salomon's sweat, just like the noble ladies in ancient Rome were keen on the sweat of gladiators. For her, this is the best aphrodisiac. The reverse was also true, Salomon also liked the smell of Bayonetta, it always reminded him of her skin, pillows and draperies, of gardens and perfume and the warmth of the afternoon sun. Bayunita was only sweating a little, and the low temperature of the sky helped her dissipate the heat generated during the battle. He winked at Bayonetta, and the witch licked her lips in response, both eager to finish the mission.

There is no doubt that the angel of four virtues is dead, and the angel whose personality is below Madame Butterfly cannot resist that terrible attack. But Salomon didn't think that the sage would die so easily. Even if the remnant body of the angel was smashed into the ground, the caster had enough means to escape, not to mention the sages who were always shrouded in the fog of history;

He repeatedly chewed on the battle a few minutes ago, and always felt that the sage didn't try his best to fight him. Whether it was experienced fighting methods or powerful summoning spells, it proved that the sage could fight better. Their battle didn't even destroy the square—according to the original expectations of the mystic, the lovely marble statue fountain on the other side of the square was not just blown off a statue's head at this moment, but should be shattered into stones. His loss should not be limited to parts with power armor. He is ready to endure the pain of bone fractures and muscle tears, even the pain of internal organs being crushed, and then rely on the violence and brutality pumped into his blood vessels, relying on duty and tenacity to continue fighting.

However, none of this happened, and even the power armor still maintained the most basic functions, only the muscle soreness and dizziness caused by excessive lactic acid and lack of oxygen. Although such pain is enough for ordinary people to heal the dissolved muscles and internal organs in a hospital bed, for Salomon it is just a high-intensity warm-up. No matter how much he hates the stigmata, the mystic mage has no choice but to be thankful that he has this kind of thing that can reveal his own essence. When the Mother Earth created him, she ranked knowledge and power first, although in a sense, there is actually no difference between the two.

"The sage is definitely not dead." Salomon said to the witch, "Where did that guy go, why didn't he continue to attack us?"

"Let's go!" urged the boy. "Whether the guy is dead or not, we have to go to Falls Church."

Salomon glanced at him.

The boy watched the whole battle between him and the sage, faced the roar of the collision of swords and guns, and even had a panoramic view of the light of the stigmata. But at the moment, he looks very healthy, not deaf, not blind, not crazy and screaming, just like an ordinary little boy. The ordinaryness of this abnormal moment is the most extraordinary phenomenon.

"Did you remember anything?" the mystic asked, "I mean, about yourself. Stop lying, have you forgotten that the sage is targeting you? Beunita and I risked our lives to protect you, and in exchange, you must tell the truth. Believe me, the Church of the Falls is not difficult to find, because there are things in this world called mobile phones and Google Maps, no matter how bad we are, we can even fly up and see them."

Salomon's words seemed to arouse some reactions from the boy.

Despite the boy's efforts to think, while the mystic secretly cast spells to probe his mind, the results were not clear. Even if Salomon was wise enough to dissect other people's minds, he would never be able to probe a blank sheet of paper—the boy really couldn't remember much. The mystic saw only a boy who looked exactly like him, except for the color of his clothes, saying something to him, but neither the background nor the voice seemed to sink to the bottom of a pond overgrown with algae. He'd seen this scene, the image that unfolded when the boy had his first headache, but even the boy didn't know what it meant.

Have to say, it's pretty frustrating.

"The only thing that this little thing can be sure of now is that there is indeed a passage leading to the upper and lower planes on Finnbowente Mountain." The witch said as she looked at the boy who was holding his head in agony. "Although the appearance of the sage is very surprising, don't forget that our mission is to go to hell to rescue Joan of Arc's soul. As for why the sage wants to kill the boy, we can talk about it later."

Salomon put his helmet back on, and the blood-red eyepiece on the golden eagle's helmet stared straight at the boy.

He pointed to the eyepiece with his finger, meaning "I'll watch you". The boy snorted dissatisfiedly, but he did not express any objection, because he also knew that the deal was unfair, and the mystic and the witch paid much more than what he gave.

Ask for a ticket!