The massive heat surge from Solomon's jet thrusters instantly evaporated the standing water beneath his feet. The powerful recoil slowed his descent, and once he disengaged the thrusters, the water covering the plaza surged back, submerging the lower half of his powered armor. Fully waterproof, the suit wasn't affected, but the lingering steam still fogged up his and the witch's vision. Solomon didn't remove his helmet; behind the crimson visor, the detection system continued feeding him information about Noahduun Town, rendering a concise navigational path. White glyph-like data scrolled across his HUD—countdown to the sky carrier's arrival, explosive round count, fuel percentage in the jetpack, Catherine's messages—all crowding the screen.
Solomon blinked and shut off the display.
The exquisite white building at the plaza's center was partially built over a reflecting pool. Its central stained-glass window glowed with vivid red and blue geometric patterns framed in gold and silver, steeped in the refined aesthetics of both the Witch Clan and the Sage Clan. Perhaps it was this inherited artistic sensibility that explained the witches' obsession with gems and precious metals—Bayonetta's collection was half jewelry.
"Thanks, little boy," the witch said as she leapt from Solomon's embrace and stepped forward, hands on hips, surveying the town and the distant snowy mountains. Though it was winter, the town enjoyed a mild climate thanks to its unique geography. Constant snowmelt from the peaks provided abundant vegetation and even formed a large lake at the mountain's base. Though remote, the town was clearly well-off—stalls left hastily abandoned still showed signs of prosperity, with fish and fruit being the mainstay of local commerce.
"How did you know all this?" the witch asked, curious.
Solomon pointed toward a tourist information board beside the plaza.
The witch glanced at it and found that the board indeed listed Noahduun's specialty products, including fish varieties and recommended restaurants, along with overpriced "local specialties" for tourists. She shot Solomon a look, as if chiding him for not telling her sooner.
"They've got wine," she said. "Maybe we can share a glass after the mission."
"Later," Solomon replied. "Not expecting much from the wine here—too watered down."
"Maybe some perch, then. The perch here looks good."
"You're not wrong. But I'm pretty sure the chef has already fled—and—"
The mage tilted his head, gesturing with his chin toward the other side of the plaza. Two stray cats were dragging fish out of a restaurant, and several more were waiting to sneak into the kitchen.
"—And our dinner's already claimed. I doubt the local cats are willing to share."
Bayonetta rolled her eyes at him.
Whatever the case, talking with Solomon always helped her relax. Her way of expressing affection was direct and intense—even when Solomon had been just a boy. "You're such a sweet little thing," she said. "Want your big sister to reward you?"
They crossed the plaza into the heart of Noahduun, leaving behind the tourist-friendly façade and stepping into the true soul of the town. At Bayonetta's strong insistence, Solomon removed his helmet to enjoy a brief moment of peace before the battle.
The town's culture and architecture were completely at odds with the surrounding country. Everything here radiated the unique elegance of the two clans who had long monitored the world. There were no veiled women, no fanatical religious sites. Instead, there were numerous marble statues of tall, graceful figures, and bold, passionate murals on every wall. It didn't feel like Central Asia—it felt more like an Italian coastal town. The interwoven canals and gondolas were reminiscent of Venice, and the people likely shared the same Mediterranean warmth. All in all, it was a fine place—clean roads, peaceful lives—far better than the trash heap that was New York.
If not for this mission, Solomon would've liked to stay here with Bayonetta for a few days.
"This place feels like home," the witch said approvingly, sipping an espresso that was bracingly Italian in strength and bitterness.
"I sense the enemy," Solomon said, not reaching for his longsword, but instead pointing toward the mountain base. He didn't draw his weapon because he'd just entered a roadside café, making hot coffee for Bayonetta and milk tea for himself. One arm still wrapped around the witch's waist, he simply had no free hand. "Lots of hostility. But I can't yet determine what kind. I recognize one soul—it lingered near the gunboat. It followed us. That should be a high-ranking angel, same tier as the one I killed in New York."
Solomon was somewhat worried about Catherine and her squad. Still, as long as those high-ranking angels didn't stray too far from Mount Fimbowinter, they should be safe. His concern was fatherly—after all, the androids had a soul-link with him, and he couldn't bear the thought of casualties. He'd even responded to Catherine's message, which only prompted the overexcited android to send several more, eventually forcing him to shut off communications in frustration.
"As long as it can be killed," Bayonetta said, adjusting her glasses with the new handgun Rodin had gifted her.
She didn't need Solomon's warning to see the enemies. The angels' wings shimmered beneath the clouds covering the snowy peaks, forming a vast, suspended golden sea that rippled like sunlight on water. At last, the enemy had revealed itself. Bayonetta breathed a quiet sigh of relief—the anxiety that had plagued her since Jeanne entered the coffin began to lift. Tangible enemies were always easier to deal with than hidden ones. She knew the target had always been her—the enemy simply hadn't expected Jeanne to fall into their trap during a rescue attempt. The conspiracies circling the Eye of the World buzzed like mosquitoes on a summer night—endlessly irritating. She felt fury boiling in her veins but kept it hidden.
She drew a slightly curved longsword, cold purple energy coating the blade.
"Boya, ready?"
"Always."
———
Tony Stark made another loop over New York City, scanning the police bands with his privileged access, but came up empty. He returned upstate and pulled some strings in Washington to forcibly insert himself into the investigation of the "Platinum Star" stunt team crash. Officially, he was there as a technical consultant for the air disaster. In reality, the investigation was being led from the shadows by Agent Maria Hill. Even though SHIELD had been gutted by the U.S. government, Hill still had access to numerous classified technologies—many of which Stark Industries hadn't yet fully absorbed.
"Agent Coulson can't be involved in this, Stark," Hill whispered, making sure no one at the Avengers base overheard. Most still believed Coulson was dead—and for now, that fiction was best maintained. Only Stark and Thor knew Coulson had returned from the grave.
"What happened?"
"The magic boy's causing trouble," Hill rolled her eyes at the thought. "Apparently Coulson's team stumbled onto something extinction-level. Solomon even threatened to nuke it."
Stark shot up. "He has nukes?"
"If you count what SHIELD used to have—and discount what HYDRA stole—then yes, he has nukes. Lots of them."
(End of Chapter)
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