A mid-tier Powers-class angel emerged, barreling down Williamsburg Bridge. The iron rails buckled beneath its invisible weight, and concrete shattered beneath its feet. The historic bridge began to tremble violently as its steel cables groaned and snapped, flinging taut wires through the air like whips, screaming with lethal force.
A sudden gale swept across the bridge, rattling its structure. Fear gripped nearly every passenger, sending them fleeing toward the front of the subway train. The train accelerated, while Bayonetta and Jeanne stood calmly atop the last battered carriage, waiting for the monstrous creature to approach. The deformed angel had a massive arm and a body shaped like an inverted urn. Its marble-like, expressionless face was one the witches had seen many times before.
They knew that face well—many beings they had slain wore it.
This one would be no exception.
Suddenly, a headless mid-tier Thrones-class angel streaked across the East River, hurling a massive sword toward the witches.
A brilliant flash of golden light tore through the sky. A figure clad in golden armor appeared midair, trailing twin jets of searing blue fire as he plummeted. Solomon hurtled downward to intercept the greatsword. His own sword was pathetically small in comparison—more like a baton—but he swung it like a bat, like a knight charging at windmills.
With a thunderous sonic boom, the enormous sword was swatted back at its sender, spinning so rapidly it churned up a white wake across the surface of the East River.
The headless angel didn't even have time to scream before its porcelain-like body shattered, pulverized like a blood-filled bag stomped flat. A thick, rosemary-scented mist of blood burst into the air. Almost belatedly, the face carved into the sword let out a screech as both blade and body tumbled into the water, dissolving into golden sparks. To regular onlookers, it appeared as a sudden rainstorm as the river water crashed against the banks.
Solomon didn't linger. He had already used a short-range teleportation spell, and there was no time to chant another.
Powered by both a jetpack and flight spells, he rocketed through the broken cables of the Williamsburg Bridge at speeds rivaling fifth-generation fighter jets, catching up to the angel chasing the witches and the subway. The monster's grotesque arm had already torn into the train's carriage, rending metal apart. As the witches drew its attention with gunfire, Solomon struck from the side—his blazing holy sword slicing through the angel's knee.
The angel, named "Faith," tumbled like a collapsing mountain, rolling down the tracks, nearly crushing the train and the witches riding atop it. Solomon quickly chanted a short spell to levitate the fallen beast, then slammed into it with his shoulder, sending it flying away from the devastated bridge.
"Good day, esteemed ladies. Enjoying the hunt?" he called out from the warped tracks, his voice loud over the scorching air and acrid scent of fuel.
"That was my kill, you idiot!" Jeanne shouted, hopping mad atop the last wrecked subway carriage now vanishing into the distance. She hurled insults at Solomon, furious that he'd stolen her prize. Solomon merely shrugged and gestured that he couldn't hear her from so far away. The gesture only made Jeanne stomp in frustration, looking like a tiny, furious white-haired figure waving her arms—an absurdly comical sight.
Solomon chuckled—briefly.
Then his smile vanished as a dense mist rose from the river, and a massive figure blocked out the sun. Donning his helmet, Solomon let the suit's detection system pierce the fog, rendering the enemy's form on his HUD. His left arm's mounted high-caliber plasma grenade launcher auto-loaded with a crisp click. Bullets etched with deadly Norse runes awaited release.
This wouldn't be a hard battle—he'd slain worse things.
"Thirty seconds," he muttered. This would be no different.
Nearly every Sisterhood unit capable of battle had joined the fight. All combatants equipped their mechanical wings for maneuverability. Assault and heavy fire teams were led by Catherine and Aura, the two most trusted androids. Following Kamar-Taj's intel, they hunted the scattered lower-tier angels throughout the city. Now operating fully within the shallow Aether, the Sisterhood could finally see their foes clearly—and punish them accordingly.
Chanting battle prayers, incense burners at their waists aflame, they fought in perfect sync. Their swords, grenades, plasma, and lasers were used with brutal efficiency.
Equally efficient was Constantine.
Though his armor was massive and more complex than the Sisterhood's, it too supported flight. Wanda, witnessing the Guardian's full combat capability for the first time, was stunned. His halberd, fitted with a grenade launcher, moved faster than any human eye could follow. No lower-tier angel survived more than ten seconds in his presence. She believed even the Hulk might fall before such terrifying power.
Constantine swept through the battlefield like a hurricane, annihilating every angel in his path.
"Stay close," came Constantine's voice through her encrypted earpiece. Without waiting for a reply, he leapt from the New York Times building, his crimson robe billowing like wings. Firing his jetpack, he stabbed his electrified halberd into a centaur-like angel, then chased another mid-tier target flying in the opposite direction.
Wanda jumped down after him.
Though clad in powered armor, she could still cast flight spells. Now armed with the snakebone staff, a weapon so heavy she wouldn't have been able to lift it without the armor's help, she joined the fray.
The staff's head was a silver-plated serpent skull encased in a heavy steel ring, adorned with cross-shaped spikes. As she gripped its shaft, crimson light burst from the snake's eye sockets. This was no mere python skull—nor from any Earthly creature—but a magical beast akin to a serpent. Wanda had no time for questions before Daniel had teleported her into battle alongside Constantine for the purge mission.
Worry clouded her thoughts as she looked eastward.
From that direction came the anguished groans of the Williamsburg Bridge. She knew her teacher was fighting there. While ordinary people might hear only the snapping steel and crashing water, Wanda, in the shallow Aether, felt the intense emotional agony radiating from that location—brief bursts of suffering, then silence.
She finally exhaled in relief, realizing she might have gone mad had the pain continued.
"Miss Maximoff!" Constantine's voice snapped her back to reality. She hastily raised her staff and fired several scarlet bands. They wrapped around a lower-tier angel's leg, giving Constantine the chance to alter course. His jetpack spewed a cone of searing flame as he drove his halberd into the angel's back. The creature screamed, but Constantine didn't hesitate—he pulled the trigger, detonating the grenade at point-blank range, obliterating the angel.
Electric light flickered constantly over Constantine's electromagnetic shield. "Please stay focused, Miss Maximoff."
"Sorry. I will. But… are we really not needed over there?" Wanda asked apologetically, though her eyes still lingered on the east. Flashes and fire exploded in that direction, and the air reeked of ionized particles.
"If the Sovereign ordered us to purge the lower-tier angels, then that is our mission—unless he changes the order, or his life is in danger."
"And now?"
"He's still in control."
(End of Chapter)
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