The thing speaking with the man in the golden mask could barely be described as human. Aside from its human-like limbs and uncovered head, the rest of its body was wrapped in a material that resembled jewel-encrusted blue diamond with golden inlays, reflective and garish to the point of absurdity. Its expression, despite bearing human resemblance, displayed an uncanny emotion. If the masked man had the words to describe it, he would have called it the "uncanny valley effect." But that concept simply didn't exist in his mind—not out of ignorance, but because his knowledge was vast and directed elsewhere.
The masked man made no comment about the creature's attire. He knew very well just how powerful this entity was—so powerful he couldn't resist it if he tried.
"You shouldn't be paying attention to that man, Sage."
The golden-masked Sage remained expressionless, fingers clenched around his amethyst-inlaid, gold-plated spear—the amethyst symbolizing honesty and reason. He resisted the fury building inside him. "We're partners, Prophet."
"Yes, we are partners. But if you want your wish fulfilled, then you need to follow my orders." The blue creature opened its mouth in irritation. It didn't want to explain just how terrifying the magic surrounding that man in the golden armor was, nor did it want to waste its energy investigating him. But it couldn't show weakness—its cooperation with the Sage was tenuous at best, and it had already paid a steep price to maintain it.
"But your objective isn't that man. It's that boy!" it barked. "Only by stopping him from reaching the Holy Mountain—or better yet, killing him—can you save your beloved. Anyone who stands in your way must die. Remember, you only get one chance!"
"I understand," the Sage replied coldly.
————————
"You want to go to Fimbulventr?" Bayonetta asked, raising an eyebrow. "Mind telling us why?"
"Nope." The boy stubbornly clutched his hot tea. Though the warmth had softened his tone slightly, he remained tight-lipped. Solomon rolled his eyes and leaned toward Bayonetta, offering a suggestion.
"This kid clearly isn't normal. That means his soul is tough—resilient enough to withstand repeated spellwork," he said. "Might as well dig the intel out of his head and dump him back in the material plane. A kid like him heading into enemy-infested Fimbulventr is a death sentence anyway."
"Hah! So your true colors come out after all, big guy!" the boy snapped, unafraid. "Violence is your only answer, isn't it?"
"Because violence works. Especially when I peel the skin off your back—you'll start talking real fast then." Solomon smirked. "I'm in a hurry. I need your intel. You've got a choice, kid. I suggest you pick the one that ends with you still breathing."
The boy snorted. "I'm going to Fimbulventr no matter what. Try and stop me!"
"Enough." Bayonetta lightly tapped Solomon's head and stood up from the bench. "Since you say you know a way past the angelic defenses, let's make a deal. You guide us to Fimbulventr, and we'll escort you there. We're looking for a gateway to Hell."
"Hell? You actually want to go to that kind of place?" the boy took another sip of tea. "You must be in some deep trouble. Either way, once we reach the summit, you can go up or down—doesn't matter to me."
"So that means you want to go up?" Solomon narrowed his eyes with interest. "You connected to the angels somehow?"
"None of your business!" the boy leapt up. "You sneaky bastard! I'm not saying another word to you!"
"Too late. You already told me everything." Solomon tapped his temple. "Your mind is wide open—like that wallet you stole two days ago. You don't even know why you want to go to Fimbulventr. You just feel like you have to. You're bluffing, snot-nose."
"You—! You're such a child!" The boy's face turned bright red with frustration. He drew a deep blue card from his pocket. "I'm not some helpless brat, you oversized meathead! Want to see what I can do?"
In response, Solomon calmly placed the barrel of his grenade rifle against the boy's forehead and gave him a display of American-style iaijutsu. Bayonetta sipped her tea, smiling as the argument escalated—though on the surface it looked like a comedic squabble, in truth she and Solomon were engaged in silent mental communication, ensuring no outsiders could eavesdrop.
"Did you figure out where it came from?" the witch asked.
"From the peak of Fimbulventr," Solomon replied. "Very powerful prophetic magic. I can't backtrace it without setting off alarms. Also, the magic spying on us is remarkably similar to the magic on that card. This kid is definitely connected to the whole conspiracy."
"Then we head to Fimbulventr. I don't believe the one pulling the strings will stay quiet much longer."
"Bring the boy. His desire to go there is instinctual. He might help us, even if he doesn't know how." Solomon added, "But I need to test his loyalties first. Let me handle that. Don't interfere."
"How are you planning to do it?"
"I'm thinking…"
Solomon cut the mind link and turned back to the boy. "Sun's going down, and we're short on time. Since you claim to know the way to the Holy Mountain, then lead the way. What's your name? Loki? Really? I knew a guy named Loki—beat him senseless last time. You sure you want to stick with that name?"
What followed went exactly as Solomon predicted.
He let the boy, Loki, lead the way while he and Bayonetta followed, heading toward the "Waterfall Chapel," the tallest structure in Noahduun. Though named a chapel, it bore no idols or holy symbols. According to Loki, the building was once used to conduct rituals honoring the mountain. At its spire sat a magical device capable of constructing a "Bridge to Paradise"—a transport mechanism that could send users halfway up Fimbulventr. For a boy with only a few months' worth of memories, Loki should not have known this.
Suddenly, Loki clutched his head and screamed. Blurred images projected before him. As bystanders, Solomon and Bayonetta were able to glimpse flashes of strange scenes from within the projections.
Once the pain subsided, Loki shared what he had seen.
"I think the kid's basically a projector," Solomon remarked with zero sympathy. "Just now he was looking for film reels."
"Darling~"
"Alright, alright. Snot-nose, here—take a painkiller. No, not the OxyContin—that's mine! I don't even get addicted, but you? You'll be in rehab for months."
(End of Chapter)
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