Like a meteor streaking through the atmosphere, trailing searing sparks, Solomon plunged into Upper New York Bay. Within seconds, the famous Statue of Liberty viewing point in Battery Park was enveloped in dense steam. Tourists who hadn't yet left couldn't make sense of what was happening—their tongues and nostrils were assaulted by the metallic scent of heated steel carried on the wind, mixed with a rolling stench of riverbed sludge and the heavy aroma of rosemary.
They couldn't see what was happening behind the veil of reality, but the battle on the other side still affected the real world. Some more perceptive tourists could vaguely glimpse flickers through the thin curtain—bright flashes of electricity, tongues of flame searing the air. They thought they heard the hiss of cold water on hot metal, thunderous booms rumbling up from beneath the water. "What is that?" As the thick steam began to lift, the tourists looked to the sky. "Is that a fighter jet?"
"What the hell are you talking about, you New Jersey hick? That's Iron Man!" slurred a man in a wrinkled suit as he woke up on a bench, reeking of alcohol. His tie was gone, one shoe lay near a trash can. No one knew how he hadn't frozen to death in the cold night—maybe the newspaper draped over him held the answer. "He flies over New York every morning—more punctual than my kid wetting the bed! Paul, gimme another whiskey. I really don't wanna go home."
A woman screamed, "Shut up, you drunken idiot! Look how fast Tony Stark is flying—that means the aliens are back. I got a push notification just earlier. They said two of the Platinum Star stunt planes crashed—it has to be aliens…"
A geeky girl with a backpack and a beanie asked, "Where are the aliens? I don't see any!"
"They must've been driven off!" said a boy, looking up. "Captain America is probably here too!"
"Shut your mouth, you little snot!" scoffed another tourist. "Aliens are just a conspiracy cooked up by Jewish billionaires and politicians. They're trying to—"
"Trying to what? Say it!" the boy shot back defiantly.
"To hide that the Earth is flat! To cover up that God gave people the right to know the truth! You idiots! Can't you see? Why won't you open your eyes?!"
"I want to see Thor!" the woman shouted. "Think about those arms. Damn…"
"I saw aliens with my own eyes," muttered a homeless man. "I was hiding in a cardboard box—just like during the World Trade Center. John, I used to think like you. Then I disappeared. They couldn't find my body, and I became a missing person forever. I watched my wife remarry, my kid grow up in a new family. After losing so much, what did I gain? Freedom, John. Freedom."
None of the bickering people could see the golden figure bursting out of the water, dragging steam and fire as it flew off into the distance. Solomon, of course, had no idea about the arguments in Battery Park—he only knew that next year, anglers at Long Island fisheries would be shocked to find fish in record numbers, fat and thriving. He sensed a different kind of magical fluctuation near where the witches were—a wild and brutal emotion seemed to have broken loose.
"So how did this all happen?" Solomon asked in confusion. "It shouldn't be possible."
"Exactly. It shouldn't be possible. A witch's pact is one of bloodline, like your contracts with the Seventy-Two Demon Lords—it's bound by terrifying force," said Mage Daniel, equally baffled. Jeanne now lay inside a coffin, her soul absent. She wasn't dead, but the link between her body and soul had become fragile, like a wisp of smoke from burning incense. Countless enchantments from Vishanti and the witch clan were cast on her, struggling to maintain the fragile tether. The scent of lily perfume mingled with ink, parchment, tapestry dust, and bookshelf must.
"Even though Gamora is a mindless beast, it's capable of thought. Unless commanded, contracted, or coerced by a higher force, the infernal dragon Gamora—bound by a witch's hair—could never break free," said Daniel. "Combine that with the earlier angel attacks… Gamora doesn't have the magic to sever souls. This wasn't a fluke, Solomon. It's a conspiracy targeting the witches."
Bayonetta's expression was blank, but her pale gray eyes burned with cold fury. Solomon's mood matched the scorched scent rising from his jetpack—he hadn't expected Jeanne to be harmed by something so absurd. The mages of Kamar-Taj were already on-site, analyzing every magical trace in an effort to identify the spell that tore Jeanne's soul from her body, and to discover where in the lower planes it had been drawn.
"Who else could…" Solomon trailed off. He exhaled hot air. "I need access to the gateways."
"That's impossible, Solomon. Every portal on Earth leading to extra-dimensional realms is sealed by Kamar-Taj. Not even the Ancient One would allow you to break one—no one wants swarms of extradimensional beings spilling into our world."
"I'll handle it," the mage said quietly.
"I contacted Rodin," Bayonetta said. "He might have the information we need."
Solomon looked at Jeanne, wrapped in the glow of protective magic, clutching the witches' pocket watch. It was a symbol of their soul and power, showing the relationship between moon phases and magic. The moon has three aspects: new, full, and waning. Fate is three. Magic is three. Solomon knew exactly whom to ask.
"Time waits for no one. I'm going to find Hecate, the Titan goddess of magic from ancient Greece," he said. "Her magical prowess is unmatched. Her potions might be what we need."
Daniel tried a final protest. "The Ancient One won't allow you to leave for Europe, Solomon."
"I trust the Ancient One will understand the power of a vow, Daniel. Even if it was just a casual promise—an oath is an oath," Solomon said. "I once vowed to the witches that even if their souls fell into hell, I would bring them back. Now it's time to fulfill that promise."
"No…"
"I'll have contingency plans, Daniel," Solomon said. He wasn't wearing his helmet, but he still felt the unbearable heat on his back—his jet engine's cooling system must have been damaged in battle. "I've prepared nuclear weapons. If the mission fails, high-yield nukes will annihilate everything there. Enough light and heat can destroy extradimensional beings, right?"
Daniel sighed. "Yes, but…"
"I can handle it," Solomon said firmly, summoning Constantine along with Catherine and Ora, the Sisterhood's representatives. "Order the sky carrier to launch. Time is short. First stop—the Mediterranean."
(End of Chapter)
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